𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐃

chapter twenty-two - the bookkeeper

That morning, almost everyone woke to a throbbing headache. Stepan brought forth more ice, but once it had all melted, he didn't make it into vodka. Everyone drank and drank until the pain became somewhat duller. Once that was done, Lucas ushered everyone to their feet, grabbed a map Link and Jaron salvaged from the aftermath of the sandstorm Jorvik, and began to lead the way to Bantaybungou.

Somewhere along the way, Jaron had to intervene and turn the map upside down. The whole group sighed in exasperation as Lucas made them turn around.

Finally, after several days, Lucas bid farewell to his companions at the foot of Bantaybungou. They told him they would set up a makeshift camp using what they could find in the general area of the Baguio mountain range, assuring him that he only needed to focus his mind on finding the Bookkeeper.

Now, Lucas was surrounded by hundreds and hundreds of trees with only a slight idea of where to go because of the slight rise in ground in front of him. He cursed himself for not collecting enough layers to keep him warm as he continued on his way. Now that he was about three hours into his climb, the sun was now beginning to sink. A pit formed in his stomach as he thought about the possibility of still searching for the Bookkeeper in the middle of the night.

At that moment, Lucas' feet landed on a level of packed dirt lined with thin pieces of wood peeking out of the ground. His eyes were trained on the ground, and his focus was following the makeshift steps leading up the mountain. Lucas had finally found a trail.

Even if his legs were aching from the endless, aimless roaming he had just subjected himself to, Lucas rushed up the steps, eager to reach their end. Junipers and elms surrounding him with their branches and trunks twisted in peculiar ways were reduced to a backdrop as monochrome as jade waves crashing against a rocky cliff under grey, stormy clouds. The desperate sounds of Lucas' own laboured breath were accompanied by the growing trickle of water that had partnered itself with the earthy staircase. At last, the arduous ascent was over once Lucas hopped onto the last step, overcome with a momentary confusion when his foot landed.

A wooden boardwalk was laid out in front of him now, hovering just a few inches above a teal pond. As Lucas made his way along the aging but stable walkway, he felt his nerves and exhaustion fade away—fade away like a skipped stone at the end of its journey, or say, like ripples dispersing, serving as temporary proof that such a dense object glided along the glass surface like a feather. Lilies and lily pads rustled lightly in the pond, almost giving Lucas a small, shy wave to say "hello". Here, the sun's dim light was diffused by the light fog wrapping itself around the mountain. Here, the world below and its flow of fiery, running blood was an eternity away.

At the end of the boardwalk, Lucas found himself standing outside of a simple structure. The building was made up of mostly bamboo, and the gabled roof was made with reeds. There were several windows that almost stretched the whole wall, but they were all covered in a white screen with a lilac ribbon flowing in the wind painted on it. Lucas lightly knocked on the door, fearing that even the slightest disturbance coming from him would ruin the mountain's beautiful tranquility. No answer came, so Lucas found himself with no choice but to slide the door open.

Inside, the floors were lined with cleanly-woven hemp rugs, and the single room had two rows of shelves overflowing with chaotically-placed books and scrolls. Lucas opted for ruining the mats with his bare feet instead of with his tattered military-issued boots and rushed to rescue a poor scroll sprawled out next to a pot of some dead plant that never even got the chance to flower. As Lucas tried to fix up the scroll, he briefly caught the words, "Forgetting is like a wound. The wound may heal, but it has already left a scar," before he found a place for it on one of the shelves. At the other end of the building's single room sat a chabudai table with several scrolls and books littered on and around it. Even if he was standing a decent distance away from the table, Lucas shivered at the sight of the incomprehensible letters and characters scribbled all over the papers in ink. Not that he could exactly judge. Luigi constantly berated him for his penmanship back in the Capital. Behind the chabudai table was a hammock suspended in the air by two wooden pillars painted white, swaying softly in the soft breeze blowing through the gaping back entrance.