Spring Log

  Copyright

  SPICE AND WOLF, Volume 18

  ISUNA HASEKURA

  Translation by Jasmine Bernhardt

  Cover art by Jyuu Ayakura

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  OOKAMI TO KOSHINRYO Vol. 18

  ©ISUNA HASEKURA 2016

  All rights reserved.

  Edited by ASCII MEDIA WORKS

  First published in 2016 by

  KADOKAWA CORPORATION, Tokyo.

  English translation rights arranged with KADOKAWA CORPORATION, Tokyo, through Tuttle-Mori Agency, Inc., Tokyo.

  English translation © 2017 by Yen Press, LLC

  Yen Press, LLC supports the right to free expression and the value of copyright. The purpose of copyright is to encourage writers and artists to produce the creative works that enrich our culture.

  The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book without permission is a theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like permission to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), please contact the publisher. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

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  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Names: Hasekura, Isuna, 1982– author. | Ayakura, Jåu, 1981 – illustrator. | Bernhardt, Jasmine, translator.

  Title: Spice and wolf. Volume 18, Spring log / Isuna Hasekura, Jyuu Ayakura ; translation by Jeremiah Bourque.

  Other titles: Spice and Wolf | Spring log

  Description: First Yen On edition. | New York, NY : Yen On, 2017.

  Identifiers: LCCN 2017007288 | ISBN 9780316471671 (paperback)

  Subjects: | CYAC: Fantasy. | Goddesses—Fiction. | Wolves—Fiction. | BISAC: FICTION / Fantasy / Historical.

  Classification: LCC PZ7.H2687 Sqo 2017 | DDC [Fic]—dc23

  LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2017007288

  ISBNs: 978-0-316-47167-1 (paperback)

  978-0-316-55919-5 (ebook)

  E3-20170503-JV-NF

  THE MARGINS OF A JOURNEY

  The snow-covered evergreens stood silently, like soldiers. It was quiet all around, and only a distant, crisp birdsong broke the silence.

  Had there been at least one cloud in the sky the man’s mind could have wandered, but today the sky was as deep a blue as the ocean floor. Unsure of what to do with himself, in the end he simply stared at his feet.

  “Well then, let’s get going.”

  The man heard the voice, and when he looked up, everything was ready.

  With a somber look, the leading priest bowed once. Behind him, two men held staves roughly the height of a person and adorned with heavy-looking metal crests. On both sides behind them stood six more men, carrying a coffin on their shoulders.

  “May God and the spirits grant us their protection.”

  The priest chanted solemnly as they slowly began to move. As they did, people hesitantly came out from beneath the evergreens that lined the street.

  Some had dressed for the occasion, while others seemed to have come straight from work. They were uncertain, like deer that spotted a person in the woods. But encouraged by the priest, they approached the coffin and each whispered their parting words. Though their murmurs were brief, the man could tell they had thought carefully about what to say and their words were full of feeling. As he listened, he began to feel as though these words were meant for him, and his head fell toward his chest a bit.

  No, I shouldn’t interpret it that way—he cleared his mind of those thoughts as they neared a corner and turned onto the next road.

  There was a single building. Though one could catch glimpses of its vitality from when it was first built, as time had passed, the structure settled and now fit comfortably into its surroundings. Even with all the help there had been, in the end the ones that protected this place were none other than him and his companions. It should have been a source of pride.

  As though the men carrying the crests in front of the procession shared a similar sentiment in their hearts, they held their staves up even higher. A sign glinted dully in the winter sun.

  A lone wolf was engraved upon it.

  “Under God’s protection, we have safely reached his house. May the spirit of our friend find eternal peace here.”

  The priest made his announcement before a shed—a place deep in these mountains that had been hastily redecorated as a church—and the people bowed their heads reverently. The priest nodded, and the men carried the coffin into the shed. After waiting a moment, the man followed them into the shed and found it had already been placed at the altar. As though opening the way for him, the men split to either side and exited. They closed the door, likely out of consideration.

  Slowly, he approached the coffin and sat down beside it.

  He removed the veil from the face resting within the flowers, and it was almost as though he could hear silly-sounding snores even now.

  “I never thought I would be the one to lead your funeral.”

  As Lawrence spoke, he stroked the lightly powdered face lying in the coffin.

  “Holo.”

  From beyond the door, he could hear the deeply somber sound of a bell.

  It had happened one sunny winter day…

  The smell of lunch still lingered in the dining hall, and a lute’s gentle melody drifted from the baths.

  He had been working nonstop since before sunrise, and by the time he could finally take a breather, it was already late in the afternoon.

  “The Land of Hidden Water, Nyohhira. Still, the only ones who can relax are the customers, eh?”

  Lawrence, owner of the Spice and Wolf bathhouse, stretched his head and cracked his neck. There was any number of reasons for his troubles.

  For example, many of his customers were high-ranking clergy, and they usually made quite selfish requests. When they insisted on praying early in the morning, Lawrence had no choice but to comply. For that, he had various duties, such as readying their scriptures, cutting the candlesticks to a uniform length before lighting them, and laying out a fur rug for their comfort when they kneeled to pray.

  While they prayed to God, oblivious to the pains he had to endure, Lawrence began cleaning the baths. Afterward, he put away the utensils that the late-night customers left out from the previous evening, threw away garbage, scooped out fallen leaves from the springs, and splashed some hot water around to thaw the path that connected the main house to the baths. Sometimes, there were even critters hiding in the water that needed to be chased away.

  As he did all this, smoke began to rise from the kitchen chimney, and a new fight began—preparing breakfast. The idea that a clergyman’s breakfast should be simple and easy was almost nonexistent. Customers ate and drank until they slept, and they of course ordered plenty of breakfast.

  Lawrence earnestly did the washing next to the cook, Hanna, who skillfully performed the work of three people on her own. It was not as though it was the owner’s job to wash dishes normally. But after losing the two workers whose duties included these menial jobs, a few sacrifices w
ere necessary.

  Afterward, he had to care for the customers that trickled in for their morning meal, ready towels and coats for guests headed to the baths, and act as manager when the musicians and dancers arrived. The baths varied in size, and how much performers earned depended on the place—and it was up to Lawrence as owner to decide who performed where in a way that would not upset the musicians and dancers.

  And to ensure their performances livened up the baths, he had to prepare props like branches or flowers with green leaves still attached or embroidered tents. If he was stingy with these things, then tips decreased, and fewer tips meant that the musicians would go to other bathhouses. No bathhouse was so sad as to have no music or dancing. Of course, he could not allow the dancers to dance on cold, wet stone, so he made sure to wrap with wool the stones he had dried on the fire the day before.

  Then, as the last breakfast plate was being stored away, he had to line up lunch for the early comers.

  Lawrence sometimes felt as though all this work was in vain, like trying to catch an entire downpour in a single pot. But so long as he worked his hardest, it would end someday.

  And all this excitement was only supposed to be a brief test of patience.

  “Good work today.”

  Lawrence sat down in the now-quiet dining hall to take a breather by the corner, and in came Hanna, to whom it would be somewhat rude to call a young girl. Though she was not physically imposing by any means, Hanna had a commanding air about her and did not show a single trace of fatigue from the morning’s commotion. If someone had told him that she had raised ten children all on her own, he would have believed it.

  On the tray she carried, there was a bowl brimming with baked beans, thick-cut smoked meat, and wine. Garlic and mustard garnished the meat, its fat still sizzling, and it smelled as good as sin. Lawrence remembered he had not eaten since morning and gulped.

  “You too, Hanna.”

  Though he was the owner, he did not forget to give thanks before wolfing down his food. Hanna may or may not have noticed his tactfulness as she laid out his utensils and poured wine into his cup. He scooped the beans into his mouth with a spoon, and his salt-deprived body was happy.

  “I don’t mind so much that we lost our two helpers so quickly, but if you collapsed, sir, we’d lose everything.”

  Shivering at the luxury of washing down salty food with wine, he cut himself another slice of the well-preserved meat and stuffed it into his mouth.

  He was finally getting used to being called “sir.”

  “Of course, I plan on hiring new workers, but I don’t think this excitement is going to last much longer. It’s almost time for spring to arrive at the bottom of the mountain.”

  “Oh, it’s almost that time already? The winters are so long up here in the mountains, you forget about the rest of the seasons.”

  “You’re not excited for spring, Hanna?”

  The word winter carried the same meaning as the word perseverance for those who lived in the mountains, where the snow piled high. Everything—people and animals and trees—withdrew, dreaming of the release spring would bring.

  “That’s not quite true, sir. But once winter’s over, everyone goes down the mountain, and the bathhouse is slow until summer. That makes me a little sad.”

  She crossed her arms and touched her cheek, gazing off into the distance, and Lawrence forced a smile. He should have felt the same—his purpose in life was supposed to be working hard and staying busy—but Hanna was special. In terms of being a helper, no one could be more reassuring than she was. But Lawrence pined for spring’s arrival as much as anyone else. He for the chance to rest that season would provide, since his body could not handle strain like it used to. In light of all this, Hanna’s words stung a little.

  On the other hand, as a former merchant who could not stand pointless waste, the period between winter and summer bothered him like a rock in his shoe. If he could get some customers to come during that time, then he could rest and work and profit all at once, but plans for that were not progressing much.

  “Anyway, is your wife still asleep?”

  It was long past noon, but the bathhouse’s mistress was nowhere to be seen.

  Lawrence put more baked beans to his mouth and rewarded himself with some high-quality imported wine before biting into meat he covered in mustard. Then he spoke.

  “She’s the kind that can’t wait for spring.”

  “My.”

  Hanna gave a small smile. “I’ll go prepare for dinner.” And she returned to the kitchen.

  Lawrence took his time eating, and when he finished, he washed the dishes himself. Then he immediately poured wine into a small carafe and headed for their bedroom on the second floor of the bathhouse.

  During the day, most customers were at the baths, so it was very quiet inside the building. When he opened the door and entered the bedroom, he could faintly hear the noise coming from the baths through an open window.

  “Hey, how long are you planning on sleeping?” He called out to the lump on the bed, but not a single word came in response. The tightly curled bulge seemed to indicate closing the window would not be worth the effort.

  Exasperated, Lawrence sighed and placed the wine on a desk where a quill and stacks of papers sat. There was still no answer, and he began to feel a bit worried.

  “Holo?”

  He called, but there was no movement. He approached the bed and gently pulled back the covers. Underneath was the sleeping face of a teenage girl. Usually, she arranged her hair and clothes to appear less girl-like, but looking at her now, he could see how young she appeared to be. She had long hair like nobility, and her spotless, pearl-like skin did not seem at all like it belonged to someone whose livelihood included hard labor. The way she quietly lay there—eyes closed, unmoving—was as though she had been freed from all sorts of pain and agony. Her peaceful face almost made him think, If I was to die, I’d want to die like this.

  As Lawrence’s finger touched her cheek, the girl’s ears twitched. They topped her head, large and pointy. They were triangular and a shade darker than her flaxen hair. Simply put, they were animal ears, and they protruded outward. What’s more, a tail covered in a fine coat of fur grew from her lower back. Holo was not the young girl she seemed, and her true form was a wolf that could easily devour a person in one bite, a spirit that had slept hundreds of years in wheat.

  Lawrence could not thank the gods enough for the luck that, in some twist of fate, led her to become his wife.

  But daily life did not play out like a fairy tale.

  Lawrence saw her rather fidgety ears, which were unlike her unchanging, sleeping expression, and sighed. “If you want to eat, get up and come down to the dining hall.”

  With that, her sleeping face finally changed. She tightened her already-shut eyes, curled up even more into a taut ball, and the ears on her head wiggled. Under the blanket, her tail was most likely wagging in response to what she heard.

  “Haaaahh…ahhh.”

  At last Holo gave a silly-sounding yawn and opened her eyes just slightly.

  “I do not wish to get up…” She spoke selfishly, sounding like a frail, spoiled princess. “Must you keep me up so late all the time…?”

  She glanced at him with accusing eyes. But she was not wrong.

  “Well, for that…I’m grateful,” Lawrence said and leaned closer to Holo’s face. “But the sleeping beauty should wake up with this, shouldn’t she?”

  He kissed her cheek. Holo closed her eyes, and her ears twitched as though she was embarrassed.

  He thought that he would grow bored after living under the same roof for ten years, but he did not feel that in the slightest.

  What happiness. He smiled to himself, and Holo smiled, too.

  “Really, you fool.”

  “I know you’re exhausted from working every night, but you really need to get up. The mending is piling up.”

  Holo seemed to surrender when Lawrence bro
ught up reality. She gave one last big yawn and crawled out from underneath the blanket. Asking her to do other kinds of work would cause her to complain endlessly, but surprisingly, needlework seemed to suit her very well, and her work was careful and neat.

  “Ooh, how cold!”

  “Here, wear this.”

  Lawrence gave his trembling wife a woolen robe to wear and handed her a cup with some wine.

  “Not enough.” She complained like a child.

  “If you’re going to drink, do it after you eat. It looks bad if the lady of the house is drunk midday.”

  “So strict, as always.”

  Holo grumbled and sipped the wine.

  “And? How was last night?” Lawrence asked Holo as they left the room, respectfully putting his arm around her, as though guiding a princess.

  “You always fall asleep right away now.”

  Holo lightly hit his shoulder in complaint.

  He partially dodged the blow and cleared his throat. “Isn’t that you?” And then he added, “That’s, well…That’s something I want to work on…”

  “Heh-heh. For it is a busy season, yes?”

  Though he felt a touch scared at the implications that he might be promising her something, he held her tenderly.

  “And about the mountain last night, ’tis well. I rid the dangerous areas of snow.”

  “I see. Thanks for that.”

  Recently, it had been snowing nonstop, and the sun had been stronger with the approaching spring, so there was a risk of avalanches.

  Lately, people were carrying more and more goods down the mountain paths. So, the past few days, Holo would return to her wolf form at night and check the worrisome areas.

  There was nothing Lawrence could do about it, and it pained him to leave it to Holo. What little comfort he did have was that Holo being Holo, she seemed to have a good time running around the mountains as a wolf. And she seemed to enjoy returning home in the early hours of the morning and throwing her chilled body into the baths while no one was around.

  “It’s going to be pretty busy tonight until the customers go home, so I appreciate it.”

  “I do not mind. Smiles when they come and smiles when they go is our bathhouse’s selling point.”