Lightning and Blood

"There's only the one. Lightning and Blood. The biggest hit right now."

"…Is that the poster on the wall?"

"Yes. Lightning and Blood. It's been running for weeks, and the seats still won't empty. Lucky for you, this is a weekday matinee—there are a few tickets left."

The ticket seller flicked a quick glance up and down Ashlyn's frame. Checking her uniform, no doubt.

Good thing I took the pentacle patch off.

After what had happened in the lobby, she had stripped every patch, badge, and mark that tied her to the Mage Corps. Looking at it now, she was glad she had. Without that precaution, the stares would have clung far more stubbornly.

The people here clearly knew more about the Istar military than Ashlyn did. Every time she and Gennady passed, the gazes that found them were the kind that looked without looking. In that flicker of attention they read rank and affiliation, and adjusted their manner accordingly.

The ticket seller's eyes, which had settled on Ashlyn, darted briefly toward Gennady—then flinched—and returned to her. He smiled politely.

"Two tickets, then?"

Stepping into the darkened theater, the air felt thick. Far better than a trench, but cigarette smoke and the must of old dust still tickled the tip of her nose.

Ashlyn and Gennady took seats at the very back. She turned to him.

"Have you ever seen a movie?"

"Yes. Of course."

"……."

On second thought, she could not have asked a stupider question. Ashlyn squeezed her eyes shut.

"Sorry."

"It's all right."

Sergeant Villef had barely finished answering when the house lights went out completely and opening credits bloomed across the silver screen. Expecting the film to begin, Ashlyn fixed her gaze forward—and was met with something astonishing.

"Ladies and gentlemen, good afternoon!"

A man in a cheap frock coat bounded out in front of the screen and began rattling on in Parosian.

"What is that?"

"The interpreter."

"Why is there an interpreter?"

"He's explaining an Istar film in Parosian."

"You know a lot about this."

"I've been a few times."

"Right."

Well—he did say he'd already come to Parieri more than ten times.

Perhaps Ashlyn's experience of theaters was far narrower than Gennady's. She had only ever gone a handful of times, dragged along by insistent friends. The places they chose had been converted from old opera houses, and the tickets cost two or three times what other theaters charged. Every film shown there had been perfectly post-dubbed.

The man in the frock coat launched into a noisy stream of Parosian from the first frame. Gesturing wildly—this, that, the other—and layering on facial expressions until even someone who didn't understand the language could roughly follow what he was explaining.

As expected. Juvenile.

Ashlyn groaned inwardly. The poster had prepared her to some degree, but the melodrama was far worse than she had imagined.

The plot, for starters, was the most threadbare kind of thing: a mage, his non-mage lover, and a vampire hunting the lover—all tangled in a fatal love triangle.

Even so, she managed to endure it through the middle of the film.

What finally tested the limits of her patience was the climax. The scene where the mage hero attacked the vampire.

Something like a ghastly beam burst from the hero's hand, struck the vampire, then struck him again—and a third time. Watching it, Ashlyn could not hold back a dissatisfied mutter.

"Casting attack magic nonstop like that. It makes no sense. Even if the premise is that his Magic Circuit is exceptionally strong—still."

"…Is that true?"

Sergeant Villef whispered to her, voice very soft. The man's low, moist tone made her realize, too late, that she had been muttering to herself without the slightest sense of decorum.

Slightly embarrassed, Ashlyn answered.

"Simple spells, maybe—but attack magic that powerful is nearly impossible. A Magic Circuit has limits."

She did not bother to add that those limits also varied from person to person.

"I see."

Gennady did not press further; he only nodded. He was looking at Ashlyn now, not the screen. As if her explanation interested him more than the dialogue of the film, he listened with full attention.

Caught in the light from the screen, the man's eyes glittered, very faintly.

Feeling heat rise in her cheeks, she grumbled under her breath for no good reason.

"They say it was made in Istar, and the plot is this absurd. Did none of the producers think to ask a single mage…?"

"Ahem! Hmm!"

A spectator in the row ahead cleared his throat loudly. The message was plain: mage of Istar or soldier or whatever else—none of my business, so kindly shut up. Ashlyn clamped her mouth shut.

"……."

She had been rude in a movie theater. Ashlyn's face burned even redder.

It's just crowded in here. That's why it's hot.

The moment they stepped out of the theater, Ashlyn erupted.

"Talking during the film was absolutely my fault. But that movie was really, truly too much."

"……."

"Do they think mages are some kind of all-powerful superhumans? And he abandons his own house to save one woman? Even for a romance, that doesn't make sense. What mage would throw away his family for a reason that selfish?"

"Well. It's a movie."

"But—"

"As long as it's entertaining, isn't that enough?"

"You found it entertaining? Really?"

Ashlyn turned to look at him, disbelief written across her face. But she could not quite make out his expression. Outside, the sun had set and darkness had fallen, and the sergeant stood with a streetlamp at his back. He spoke in a low voice, almost a whisper.

"I found it entertaining."

The instant she heard it, the anger that had wrapped around Ashlyn evaporated completely. What remained was embarrassment. As the sergeant said, a movie was only a movie. Getting heated over whether it matched reality was the sort of thing children did. Awkward now, Ashlyn cleared her throat.

"…Well. Fine. At least one person enjoyed it. That's something."

And from there until they returned to the hotel for dinner, silence held between them.

The restaurant was on the hotel's top floor. Which, for what it was worth, meant the seventh.

Ashlyn thought of the Wintercrown Mage Tower she had visited as a child. Climbing and climbing, only to find still more stairs ahead—dizzying, exhausting enough to kill her.

But at the same time, I was proud.

The height of the view as she rose had seemed to prove to her the power of House Wintercrown.

The tallest mage tower in northern Istar: the Wintercrown Mage Tower. It had been raised by magic alone by Eugene, third head of the Wintercrown family and a legendary mage of the abstract realm. By the standards of the weak mages of the present age, it was an achievement beyond imagination.

Ashlyn turned her face toward the night view beyond the window.

"I made the reservation, but the scenery is better than I expected."

Unlike Istar, where the whole city glittered even at night, Parieri's nightscape had a quiet charm. Sparse gas lamps and the soft light leaking from house windows composed a scene that felt, altogether, warm.

"Maybe it's because it's my first leave. My heart feels restless."

At Ashlyn's idle complaint the sergeant nodded. He did not particularly seem to share the feeling. He was looking only at Ashlyn, not out the window.

"Your order is ready."

The dishes they had ordered arrived. Ashlyn's was roasted potatoes and parsley with an assortment of unidentifiable vegetables, all baked together; the smell was not bad. And Gennady's was steak.

Whether that counts as steak or just a slab of grilled meat…

Two chunks of meat, utterly violent in their simplicity, without so much as a garnish. Still, there was no gamey smell, so the seasoning seemed sound enough. The server filled both empty glasses with wine. Ashlyn took up her glass with the practiced ease drilled into her since childhood. The sweet aroma of the wine brushed the tip of her nose, and she felt as if she had been wrapped once more in the air of Istar. She raised her glass toward the man.

"A toast."

"……."

The sergeant only stared at her for a moment, as if hesitating. Ashlyn shrugged again.

"Don't, if you don't want to."

"Ah—no."

He hurriedly lifted his glass, and a little wine spilled over the rim. Ashlyn pretended not to notice and tipped her glass against his.

"To victory."

"…To victory."

After drinking the wine and eating something that actually resembled food, she felt as if she might live again. Ashlyn drained her glass and mocked herself.

I really am a city creature, aren't I.

No. In truth, anyone would be. Compared to those hellish trenches, anywhere was paradise.

Even somewhere on the level of Parieri was enough to make her feel as if she could breathe and open her eyes again. Whether it was that light, buoyant mood, or the wine she had not tasted in so long—she spoke on impulse.

"Sergeant. May I ask you something?"