How to Survive in the Roanoke Colony-Chapter 204 - His Messenger (1)
204: His Messenger (1)
204: His Messenger (1)
Slowly…
the warmth felt in White’s hand fades away.
I grip his wrist.
No pulse can be felt anymore.
I bring my ear to his chest.
Equally silent.
Looking around, almost everyone remained motionless except for a couple of people.
Scratch, scratch.
As if entranced, Hewett was writing down what I had just said.
“…Ah, um, Mom?”
Virginia, her face full of tears, leaned into Eleanor.
And Eleanor…
“…”
Was looking at me.
And then turning her eyes toward her father’s body that had just left this world.
Then back at me.
“Father…
looks peaceful.”
She opened her mouth.
“…He was really very anxious before.”
Tears pour from her eyes, and from Virginia’s eyes as she leans on her mother.
“Th-thank you…
Nemo.
Really, thank y-…”
“I only did my best.”
That was all I could say, and it was true.
Am I an angel sent by God?
Well.
I was just trying to play a game when I fell here.
With all sorts of transcendent abilities.
Something supernatural did send me here.
But I’m far from the kind of angel that Abrahamic religions imagine.
Although it started with their misunderstanding, I’ve essentially deceived them to survive.
But I couldn’t cover someone’s death with false comfort.
So I spoke only the truth.
I was there for him.
That was my best.
Sometimes such seemingly small actions are the best we can do in certain situations.
“Soon…
we’ll need to hold a funeral, so let’s call the undertaker.
Everyone, let’s prepare for tomorrow.”
I make the sign of the cross, and everyone follows suit.
Some left the room to call the undertaker, while others moved toward the bedside to transport White’s body.
Eleanor and Virginia wiped their tears and joined the latter group.
As I stepped outside, I heard rustling sounds from the adjacent room.
When I turned my eyes, Hewett tilted his head and said:
“Hmm?
There shouldn’t be anyone staying there…
perhaps they’re cleaning.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes.
As far as I know.”
“…”
I turned my head.
“Well, let’s go.”
So we left the cathedral with John White’s body. freёnovelkiss.com
==
“…”
Elizabeth Tudor, Queen of England.
Sitting alone in the room, she froze in silence.
She remained still without even making a sound of breathing.
And she remained as quiet as a rock, long after the murmuring outside ceased and much time had passed.
But separate from the silence her body kept, her mind was screaming in all kinds of uproar.
She had already met “him.” He was a peculiar man.
In his gaze, there was a mineral-like calmness.
His tightly closed mouth and straight nose solidified a calm yet firm impression.
A unique steadiness emanated from him like a body scent.
All those elements had accumulated thickly like the years he had lived, forming a solid stratum.
He was a solid person.
The years he had lived, the life he had experienced, seemed to be making him solid.
And looking at his face as a whole…
It was just the face of an exotic boy.
Charming, but young.
No.
Young is not the right word.
Not a single wrinkle or freckle showed on his face.
Beneath skin that seemed to have never experienced the passage of time, flesh clung elastically, and his lips, eyebrows, and hair were as vibrant as if just bloomed.
He had the face of a young boy, yet was like an old man who had lived as long as Methuselah from the Old Testament.
He was the mysterious emperor of the natives.
A mysterious being who appeared along with an empire that might not have existed until recently.
A monarch who, like something out of a fairy tale, happened to encounter Christianity and converted his empire.
A sage fluent in Latin, English, and French, yet had never set foot on European soil.
And…
a very young boy.
All these elements coexisted in one person.
Seeing such a person, the dying old man had said through the conversation heard beyond the wall:
“Only the Lord knows who will be saved, so how dare I ask you, His messenger?”
‘His messenger,’ he had said.
“…No.”
Let’s not look away.
Let’s not list other elements in our mind while setting aside the most important one.
You heard it, didn’t you?
Yes, you…
I…
‘Heard it.’
I heard the voice.
That voice recited clearly in English, Latin, Greek, French, Italian, Spanish, Welsh, Gaelic, Scottish, Cornish…
It resonated clearly in my ears in all those languages.
And simultaneously, all those languages naturally merged into one meaning in my mind, as if forming one sentence.
Like a mosaic.
Swing!
“Y-Your Majesty?
Did anyone come in here just now?”
Margaret, who had gone out to find food, hurriedly returned with a bread basket.
She must have seen the group leaving the cathedral’s doors.
The Queen looked up at Margaret briefly.
The ‘saint’ who looked more suited to a dirt-covered farmer’s wife’s clothes than a lace-adorned dress.
Elizabeth was about to answer that nothing had happened and she was fine.
As she tried to compose herself…
she belatedly felt it.
Her hands, lips, and pupils were trembling.
She clearly intended to say something else, to say she was fine, that no one had entered this room, but her mouth and tongue moved of their own accord, forming words.
“His, messenger…?”
Yes.
If these words had no meaning, if they were merely a metaphor, she would tilt her head at me.
I would clear my throat in embarrassment, and when she tried to ask something, I would sit her down and show her what I had brought.
Probably rough bread and cheese and fruit…
“…”
“…Why are you silent?”
Margaret’s face hardens.
Elizabeth’s mouth moves again.
Even knowing that once she uttered this phrase, there would be no turning back.
Even knowing that once she crossed this line, everything would become clear, she finally speaks.
Because of that accursed curiosity that made Adam and Eve eat the forbidden fruit.
“You too, were real?”
It’s not a proper question.
There’s no explanation about what or how something is real.
But the face of the false saint is colored with shock.
No.
That’s not right…
