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Published at 28th of May 2018 09:43:51 PM


Chapter 4

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Blue Rose

 

1

From the next day onwards, Cleo’s morning started with a, “Morning, Cleo.” And of course, “Good morning, Roselyne,” he would respond.
Going out to the cliff to bathe in the morning sun, quenching her throat in a nearby stream. That was her morning daily routine. After that, she would lounge around a bit, waiting for her internal organs to start to motion before going out hunting to sate her hunger.
On days where she couldn’t find any game, she had to walk so long her legs became stiff, but with good luck, she would encounter big game—for example, a plump adult boar—and if she could successfully bring it down, her stomach would be filled for two to three days. On the days she didn’t have to go hunting, she would take it easy until the sunset in one of her numerous favorite spots. “Hey, tell me something interesting,” Roselyne demanded, so Cleo would tell her a story from one of the books he had once read while holed away in his room.

“What’s a ‘king’?”
‘What’s a ‘circus’?’

Time and again, she would break the backbone of the story, but at such times, Cleo would paint an ‘illustration’ to answer her question. While Roselyne didn’t seem to understand the moral lessons lying in the story’s depths or the niceties of the characters’ sentiment, coming in contact with unknown knowledge was, in and of itself, a large joy for her. The drawing papers filled up with kings and circuses, and all other sorts of chaotic concepts would be carefully folded by her hand and tucked into the pocket of her raincoat.
Just like that, two weeks passed by in no time.

 

By the ‘Cliff with Pretty Sunrise’ Roselyne had set as her current base, the red flowers bloomed en masse. That day, Cleo was sketching one of the roses, and as a flight of fancy, he painted the rose in blue.
Untiringly watching the picture approach its completion, “Eh?” Roselyne quietly showed her surprise. “The color of the flower isn’t the same. Why?”

Flowers this blue should grow in this forest, they’re a very rare rose, Cleo explained.

“They’re really rare? Hmmm.”

Roselyne reacted strongly to that portion.
It’s not as if the spottings of blue roses were few in number in the world. But their spotting sites shared a commonality, and they were often in the depths of forests humans rarely set foot in. What’s more, if you tried to bring one back to grow more, once a week passes by, the blue color will drain away. Given a week, it becomes no more than an ordinary white rose. By the way, when a woman who was once a beauty completely changes in the span of only a few years, they might say, ‘She was a blue rose’.
Whatever the case, blue roses were rare. While he had no intention to take one back and succeed the Grant House, since he had come all the way there, he did think he might as well see one at least once.

(Come to think of it, Joseph did say he wanted to see a blue rose before he died.)

Cleo got the feeling by seeing a blue rose, he would be able to hold a memorial service for his late friend. He pulled his charmed compass out from his bosom and showed it to Roselyne.

“The blue roses should grow where this tool points.”

Roselyne pinched it between her thumb and index finger, turning it round and round, staring at it intently.

“So you can tell where the flower blooms in the forest with this. Hmm, that’s kinda interesting.”

Returning the compass to Cleo, Roselyne grinned and said this.

“Then how about we have a look?”

 

 

 

2

The first day was undoubtedly the better part.
They had departed in the afternoon, so the sun set in no time. While Roselyne held such ardor she didn’t mind searching through the night, he managed to persuade her with the fact they couldn’t check the compass at night. Worming his way into his sleeping bag, Cleo fell asleep in under a minute.
The next day, the walk began with the sun’s rise.
Given a while, Cleo felt a strange load on his feet. At first, he simply tilted his head, but he eventually understood. The ground was gently sloping up.
(Let’s pray it’s just a small hill…!)
But the incline grew harsher and harsher, continuing on without end. It did seem that unbeknownst to them, they had endeavored to climb a mountain. His calves cramping up, Cleo quickly felt an urge to raise a sound.
On the other hand, Roselyne didn’t even seem to notice the sloping ground, at times pushing through thickets, at times smashing though the lower branches of the trees and shrubs, exultantly pressing through the forest.
She pushed her way no matter how far.
She pushed, and pushed.
A little rest, and she was pushing again.

“… And then, making sure I didn’t make any sound, I quietly, quietly crept up my vines. But when there was just a little more to go before I could reach that rabbit, swsh, I just barely grazed against a tree. It’s no good, it’s going to run away! I thought, but then… hey, are you listening?”

Roselyne came to a halt and turned around. Cleo was around three meters behind, frantically walking to keep up with her. The rucksack on his back was tacked onto an even heavier load called regret.
Teetering, with unsteady footing, he looked like he would take a tumble at any moment.

“I… I’m listening…… ah!”

The instant he wheezed out a response, he really did fall.
Roselyne stooped down, “Are you alright?” she peered into his face. Still prostrated over the ground, “Please let me rest a bit,” Cleo murmured.
Slipping off his bag and rolling onto his back, the light through the trees drew a speckled pattern over his sweat-soaked body. The points lit up were filled with a burning sensation, and Cleo didn’t hesitate to roll and roll to flee into a larger shadow. A cool, gentle breeze blew down his loose collar, causing him to leak a comfortable sigh.

“Hey, are you done yet? Let’s get going.”

In less than two or three minutes, Roselyne could wait no longer; extending her vines from the hem of the raincoat, she shook Cleo. At this rate, the vines might tie him up and drag him along the ground. Cleo shouldered his rucksack, putting fighting spirit into both his legs to stand.
In a few measly steps, his leg was caught up by a root sticking out of the ground, making him fall once again.
He heard Roselyne sigh.
His pride as a man suffering a blow, he shed just a tear. The bitter taste of sand spread through his mouth.
And there.
All of a sudden, his body was floating. The magic beast girl’s vines had wrapped around his entire body.
Fed up, tired, had she finally changed her mind and decided to eat him?
The blood drew from his face. Without even the time to raise a shriek, his body was at her mercy as it—was rested on Roselyne’s back.
Roselyne grabbed both his legs and undid the vines tangling him, placing him in a so-called piggy-back ride.
(…… Huh?)
Right before Cleo’s eyes were her profile. Her long eyelashes that would rise and fall with each blink, like a butterfly flapping its wings. As he found his gaze fixing onto those elegant movements, Rosalyne suddenly turned towards him, their eyes meeting at extreme point-blank.

“Hey, this is the right way, right?”
“Eh—Ah, wait, wait a second.”

He hurriedly took out the compass. The direction it pointed corresponded with the direction she jerked her chin towards.

“Yes, it’s right. That way–”

By the time he noticed it, her eyes were gazing at him intently.

“Wah, what’s the matter?”

Roselyne quietly peered into his face.

“Cleo… I notice your face turns red quite often. At what times does it turn?”
“What times, well…”

Unable to say he was entranced with the side of her face, he looked away to flee.
Roselyne blinked her eyes and tilted her head.
She awaited an answer he couldn’t give. A while of silence.
Eventually, the awkwardness of perpetual silence grew unbearable. He had to say something, but should he just speak honestly? No, but… the inside of his head spun into a whirlpool. He was coming down with a fever. It was at that time that Roselyne’s voice resounded by his ear.

“Cleo, hold on tight.”

Hold on tight?
Before he could understand what she was talking about, Roselyne took off with a strong burst.
Had she been lowering pace to match his before? She was climbing that mountain at a speed that made comparisons pointless. She pressed through the forest. The trunks, the leaves, they all passed like a river flowing from front to back. Shaking as if he had been caught up in an earthquake, Cleo’s body floated through the air, his brain shaking inside of his skull. He reflexively clung onto Roselyn’s nape.
(Ah…)
He had noticed he was embracing her from behind with all his might.
When her appearance was so slender and well proportioned, she was pleasantly soft.
A scent like young grass tickled his nose. The smell of her hair.
Roselyne abruptly turned and gazed at his face.

“Look at that, you’re even redder. Hey, why is that?”

She innocently asked as she ran. Cleo was hard-pressed to answer, half in desperation, he screamed out his reply.

“I-I don’t know. It just goes red on its own!”
“So it goes red on its own. Hmm.”

Without the slightest drop in speed, they passed through the gaps between the trees, evading the underbrush that impeded their way. With the shrubs and lot thickets, it took but a leap. Roselyne pressed right into the places where it looked like they were on the verge of collusion, and each time, Cleo felt the hairs on his body stand on end.
While he didn’t notice it as he frantically clung to the girl’s back, Roselyne was fluttering the hem of her raincoat as she gave a fun laugh. And to the time the day ended, her mad dash didn’t stop. Eventually, they ran into a large cliff, and with no choice but to take a detour, they went out onto the riverbed that fell alongside the cliff. That was where they would spend the night.

 

 

 

3

That night’s moon hid behind the clouds. While at times curious of the ground, it would peek out its face, the thick clouds served at the curtain of knights to envelop the forest. Without focusing one’s eyes, it would be impossible to even tell the expression of the one right beside you.
Like a fishing line, Roselyne hung a number of her vines in the river, and within a few minutes had caught her first fish. Without any bait, how did she manage to catch it in the darkness? Cleo tilted his head in admiration.
During his musings came the second. Then the third. Then the fourth.
She bit down on the fish she caught head-first, paying no heed to bones or scales as she crunched them to bits. More a display of their death throes than their liveliness, the fish flopped their tails left and right as they disappeared into the girl’s mouth, and seeing that silhouette, Cleo felt just a slight chill. When he was eaten himself, was that how he’d go down? He strongly shook his head to swiftly forget the scene he just witnessed, as he bit into a red thin-skinned fruit from a nearby tree.

“You don’t want any fish? You really like your fruit. Are all humans like that?”

Roselyne said, plucking out the scales stuck to her gums.
To be honest, he was mildly disconcerted by a life of only fruit from dawn to dusk. He took a glance at the energetic fish she had brought to shore, his eyes cursed, ‘I’m sure it’d be tasty if I grilled it’.

“No, I don’t like them to such an extent, it’s just, eating meat and fish raw is a bit…”

He had eaten raw fish in carpaccio and such, but while that was raw, it was properly prepared. The wild way of eating she displayed was beyond him. If there was something else to eat, then he’d prefer restraining from taking a bite while the fish were still dancing.

“Raw is no good?” Roselyne seemed a bit puzzled. “Then how are you supposed to eat them?”
“Umm… I’d be able to eat it scorched.”
“Scorch? By scorch, you mean fire? Then Cleo, you can shoot fire from your hands too?”

Roselyne grimaced, drawing her body back warily.

“Umm… are you talking about fire magic? No, I can’t use any magic. There’s this tool called a match you can use to light a fire, though I don’t have any on me right now.”

As Cleo said that, Roselyne reverted her body with a look of relief.

“In the past, there was a human who could make fire from his hands. I hate fire. It’s really hot and painful. If you use that on a fish, can you really eat it? Won’t it be bitter?”

She seemed to be imagining it burnt to black ash. ‘No, not like that,’ Cleo waved his hand.

“Even if I say scorched, I don’t mean that much. Just so it doesn’t burn—through it’s tasty if it’s just a little burnt—if you cook it well, it’s warm and juicy, and quite delicious. If I had some matches, I’d definitely like for you to have a taste.”
“… Hmmm.”

Roselyne offered a curt response.

“Hey, more importantly, how much longer to the blue rose?”
“… Yeah, give me a second.”

With the subject changed so easily, Cleo gave a wry smile as he took out the magic compass.

“I can’t give you a precise distance, but I can give you an estimate to about how close we’ve come. It might be a bit difficult in this darkness, though.”

If was knowledge he had learned from an adventure novel once read. Cleo played the part of the novel’s protagonist, holding the compass level to the ground, giving it a half turn as if winding a screw. He stared at it intently. It was hopeless. He groaned.

“It’s too dark to see the needle. If…”

The moon comes out of the clouds, he was about to say. As if his wish had reached the heavens, so precisely did it come to be. A moment of moonlight illuminated the two. Cleo quickly pivoted the compass again.

“……”
“……”
“………”
“………”

Cleo spun the compass one last time, silently observing the movement of the needle. Roselyne swallowed her breath and imitated him.

“………… Alright.”
“Eh… you could tell from that?”

Yes, Cleo nodded.
The principle was simple enough. The axis supporting the needle of a charmed compass was purposely given a rough finish by the craftsman, leaving a moderate coarseness to the touch. The course texture strengthened the force of friction, putting a break on the needle’s rotation. Thanks to that property, if you turned the needle in the exact opposite direction, it would take a bit of time for it to return to the correct orientation. This time could be used to calculate the distance to the guide stone. It was said that a reliable compass in the hands of an experienced adventurer could give you the distance in meters.
At Roselyne’s place, the ‘Cliff with Pretty Sunrise’, it took a little over two seconds to adjust. This time, in both tests, it was approximately one. According to the novel, when the stone and charmed compass are in extreme close quarters, the needle will adjust in the time it takes to say, “Ah,” which means—

“I’d say we’ve likely walked over half the distance.”
“Really? Then we’ll get there tomorrow?”
“Yes… t-that’s about right.”

There was a high probability. But he didn’t have the confidence to declare it; the reason being, he was an amateur who had just brushed up on the knowledge, and no veteran adventurer.

“Either tomorrow, or the day after, we’ll probably…”
“Reach?”
“Reach… maybe.”
“…?”
“… We might not.”

An ambiguous statement from such fear of a definitive.
A while later, Roselyne spoke with a tilted head.

“…… What’s that supposed to mean?”

The moon was covered in clouds again, he couldn’t tell what face she was making. But her voice alone was adequate to express her discontentment.

“In that case, you haven’t the slightest idea. What were you doing back there?”
“…… I’m sorry…”

Cleo’s face grew hot.
From Roselyne’s point of view, perhaps without any spite, she intended it as a simple question. But Cleo didn’t think so. He got the feeling she was drawing near to condemn him. Shameful, embarrassing, he wanted to dissipate like the air this instant.

“Why are you apologizing?”

He heard Roselyne’s sigh in the dark. That was the second sigh today.

“Whatever. Then let’s go to sleep already. For tomorrow’s sake.”

In a fine, shaking voice, “… Yes,” Cleo finally managed out a word. Perhaps erased by the rush of the river, it failed to even reach the girl’s ears. But Cleo burrowed into his sleeping bag without paying mind.
The fact the moon hid behind the clouds was a stroke of luck to Cleo. The fact the river’s sound was surprisingly loud was convenient.
In the pitch-black darkness, Cleo wept just a little.

(But… I’m doing my best too…)

After that, Cleo couldn’t quite find it in him to sleep. Around thirty minutes later, around when the traces of tears flowing down his temple had dried out, his self-loathing bubbling up like an overboiling pot had been contained.
(Normally, I’d have long since come down with a fever and collapsed… I wonder why. Is it because I came to this forest? Because I met Roselyne? I get the feeling my body’s a bit sturdier than before.)
Perhaps the air was better. Perhaps liberated from the psychological stress that was the Grant House, his body’s immune functions had increased. But Cleo had no way of knowing.
(Whatever the case, I’m doing my best. Even if no one recognizes it… that’s right, I should know better than anyone that I’m doing my best.)
Even if it was in his head, Cleo showed an unusually firm will as he aggressively justified himself. But that also grew futile in no time. Nothing more than the loser’s howls, so he felt.
(I know. It’s hopeless at this rate, no matter how hard I’m trying… I have to raise her affection more, I have to get Roselyne to like me more and more.)
Someday, Roselyne would grow tired of Cleo. The day would surely come. Or perhaps, some circumstance would make it so she couldn’t keep Cleo any longer. When the tie came,

‘I don’t need you anymore, but I’d feel bad about eating you,’
‘I’ll return you to the world you were born and raised in outside the forest.’
‘Farewell. You’ve got to live strong.’

He would need her to be, or else. That was the most ideal route Cleo could think of for survival. For that sake, he would need her to develop enough affection she would at least hesitate a second to kill him.
But what was he supposed to do to garner the magic beast girl’s affection?
A magic beast’s psychology was still largely an unexplored field.
Then should he make an appeal to her psychology as a young girl?
(Well about that… what sort of things do girls even like?)
Unfortunately, Cleo was mostly ignorant when it came to human girls as well. Forget dating, he had never even chatted with a female friend.
(For example, should I show her how cool and dependable I can be…?)
Cool? Me? Cleo cynically raised the corners of his lips.
No, but still, if he was looking for affection as a pet, more than that–
(Would it be better if I was unreliable in a way that made her want to protect me?)
No, no, Cleo shook his head.
(She sighed when I slipped around noon, did she not? That was definitely her fed up with me.)
Then what do I do? That’s no good, that’s not it. He felt as if he had stumbled into a labyrinth with no exit. And like many fifteen-year-old boys in the world, Cleo spend another night agonizing over the philosophical perplexity of, ‘How am I supposed to get a girl’s attention’ as he repeatedly cross-examined himself.
Right beside him, the Roselyne in question was sound asleep a smile occasionally mixing in with her sleeping face.
Zzz…

 

 

 

4

Some bird or beast let out its cry.
Cleo abruptly opened his eyes. It was already morning. He had no memory of when exactly he had fallen asleep. And Roselyne was peering into his face. She was intently examining his sleeping face.

“Morning, Cleo.”
“Good… good morning, Roselyne.”

They exchanged the usual greetings.

“I’ll go get you some fruit,” Roselyne parted from his side. Just at that moment, the intense morning rays poured onto his face, making him flicker his eyes.
He rose up and yawned, worming his way out of his sleeping back. Taking the empty husk, he squeezed the air out of it as he scrupulously rolled it up when it struck him.
(Roselyne back there… don’t tell me she was making shade for me…?)
He didn’t have the courage to ask her directly. He discreetly gazed at Roselyne as she reached out her vines to pick fruit. The girl’s back—she was surely humming that song—bobbed along to the rhythm. She looked to be in a good mood today. It didn’t seem there was any lingering discomfort from their exchange the previous night. He pat his chest in relief.
After a light breakfast of fruit, Cleo tipped his canteen into the water’s flow and took a gulp of the newly filled water. At the pleasant feeling of the cold water washing away the fruit juice stuck to his throat, another gulp, then another… he almost forgot himself. But drinking too much might ruin his stomach, so he exercised self-control.

“Hey, let me see it too,” Roselyne reached out her hand.
When he readily handed over the canteen, she sounded her throat as she drank the water down.

“Ah, that’s good stuff. You can gulp it right down, that’s a real convenient thing you’ve got there.”

Ever since she imitated Cleo drinking from the canteen, she had become addicted to it.
On the other hand, the fact that his lips were indirectly touching hers by means of the canteen still flushed his ears.
(W… why am I getting flustered? I’m dealing with a magic beast. She eats people, for god’s sake…)
He shook his head to sweep away the bittersweet emotions he was having a hard time reigning in himself.
He felt a gaze.

“Your face is red again. Why does it turn red? Is it because you drank cold water?”

Roselyne looked at him inquisitively. Their eyes met.

“No, t… that might just be it.”

Ahahaha, he played it off with a laugh, falling to his knees on the riverside, washing his face as if trying to put on a cap of water. Roselyne cocked her head.

“Humans are kinda interesting.”

She muttered and narrowed her eyes.
Ukukuh, she laughed.
Cleo didn’t notice.

 

After spending more than enough time washing off the sweat he shed in his sleep, Cleo finally took a breath. The breeze glancing off the river caressed his sopping wet face, the red, hot portions pleasantly vaporizing and cooling down. Behind his eyelids, it tensed him up to the back of his eyeballs. In his clear vision, Cleo caught sight of a certain something.

“…… aaAAh… AAAAAH!!”
“Whoah… .w-what!? What happened?”

Cleo’s exclamation almost made Roselyne drop the canteen in her hands.

“Ooooover there! Right there!”

Cleo’s index finger strongly pointed out a single point. Roselyne’s eyes swiftly moved.

“…… Aah!”

Across the river, a little way’s away, a blue rose swayed in the river’s breeze.





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