Children of the Rune – Winterer - Chapter 64

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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Chapter 64.
The Island of the Survivors (6)
According to Dansen, Boris was not yet a formal initiate. The formal initiation ceremony could only be conducted on The Island.
Originally, it was strictly forbidden to bring outsiders to The Island. Those who committed such an act faced the most severe punishment.
“And truthfully, such a thing is impossible in the first place. There is a mandatory waypoint one must pass through to reach The Island, and it’s impossible to slip through undetected there.”
There was only one way to bring an outsider to The Island. Two or more islanders had to vouch for the person’s identity, and simultaneously the outsider themselves had to declare their willingness to become an apprentice Pilgrim and undergo a simple initiation ceremony. And only if they were fifteen years old or younger.
An apprentice Pilgrim who entered The Island in this manner had to confess their calling as a Pilgrim during the first purification ritual at age fifteen, and swear to follow all obligations. Only then did they become a formal Pilgrim.
If they refused even one thing, they could not become a Pilgrim and were banished from The Island forever.
Their life afterward was free, but attempting to return to The Island meant death.
“It’s not complete freedom, though. When you leave The Island, you must leave a handful of your hair and a vow of silence in a special vessel kept on The Island.”
“What happens if you leave something behind in that vessel?”
“If you ever reveal The Island’s secrets before the people of the Continent, the hair in the vessel will spontaneously ignite. The hair’s owner will experience tremendous pain—severe enough to cause death.”
“Even if you’re far away?”
“No matter how far away you are.”
Was it a form of magic? Boris fell into thought, startled. Magic typically had a range, as far as he knew. Could this be something different from magic?
“The degree of pain depends entirely on the discretion of that mysterious vessel. We have no way of knowing what happens to the person.”
Finally came a geographical explanation. The Island was an archipelago with four large islands. Combined, they were as vast as Elbe Island and the Crystal Archipelago together.
However, mountain ranges and volcanic craters dotted the landscape, so the land suitable for farming was not particularly extensive.
The largest island was called Memory Island, and the second was called Silence Island. The small islands positioned between the two were named Loss Island to the south and Origin Island to the north.
Most people lived on Memory Island. The other islands had only defensive fortifications and watchtowers. Those assigned to protect The Island took turns guarding these places.
The Pilgrims called their temporary homeland—the combined four islands—the Moon Island.
“The wind is changing.”
Dansen, who had paused his explanation, raised his hand and spoke. Boris scanned the sky, uncertain what he should be looking for.
“But the wind has been blowing steadily all along?”
“Not that kind of wind. A bad wind is coming.”
I couldn’t fathom how he knew, but I didn’t doubt him. Did he mean a storm?
“Wake Elder Brother.”
Boris gently shook Isildor San awake—he had been asleep for about three hours.
Isildor San mumbled for a moment, then bolted upright and looked around. Then he said the exact same thing as Dansen.
“A bad wind is coming.”
The regular ripples that had been forming began to overlap from all directions. Boris instinctively grabbed the mast, but he released it again when Isildor San burst into hearty laughter from above his head.
“Little one, so you’re finally feeling fear?”
If one felt no fear, one was not human. Drenched by waves that lashed the deck, Boris was seized by a childlike terror he hadn’t experienced in a long time.
Beneath the boat lay water deeper than the height of hundreds of men. If that water rose up and overturned them, would even a trace of their shell-like vessel remain?
But moments later, looking around, I noticed the two islanders carried themselves differently.
It was not an attitude of taking the approaching storm lightly. Yet they surveyed their surroundings with eyes as confident as if they were one with themselves and one with the sea.
It was an attitude different from that of the sailors of Lemme. Sailors, whose lives were governed by the sea’s mercy, never gazed upon the sea with such arrogance as these two.
“What do you think, Elder Brother?”
“Let’s begin.”
The beginning fell to Dansen. He brought his hands together in prayer at his chest and gazed straight ahead for a moment.
In the meantime, the boat skillfully crested two towering waves and pressed forward.
When the third massive wave approached, Isildor San deftly adjusted the boat’s heading and averted disaster.
But Boris trembled violently from head to toe, finding no purchase that offered reassurance. As the deck began to pitch beneath him, he could barely maintain his footing, let alone his composure.
Then Dansen’s voice rose.

A woman pale of face, her long hair woven from black vines,
gazes down from on high,
and speaks of how earth and water are vastly distant—
a distance as great as that between god and man.

Seeing waves as savage as sea serpents,
she says they frolic as gently as lambs,
and hearing the earth split and roar,
she calls it but pebbles clicking together.

Between the fierce wind, the crashing waves, and Dansen’s resonant voice, Boris was barely conscious.
But the moment a hand seal formed in Dansen’s palms, a powerful resonance tore through the air and rippled outward in all directions—as though a colossal bronze bell had been struck.
Yet it was a sound the ears could not hear. What perceived it was not the ears, but the skin, the entire body.
“That is what we call ‘Origin’—a power that every generation births in a select few.”
Isildor San spoke these words to Boris even as he strained with all his might to steady the boat alone. Boris, sprawled flat on the deck, could scarcely make out what was said.
The ordeal did not last long.
Soon after, Boris realized as if in a dream that the boat’s violent pitching had ceased, and he scrambled to his feet to gaze at the sea and sky.
Before he could even gasp in wonder, Dansen’s cheerful voice reached him.
“As expected of Elder Brother—truly worthy of the name ‘Navigator’. Even the waves would yield to your mastery of the helm.”
Isildor San laughed in response.
“Some say that a person, given a certain name, comes to live a life that matches it.”
Having just survived such a harrowing crisis, Boris felt those words applied to him as well.

The voyage had already surpassed two weeks.
On a small Uninhabited Island, we found a brief respite. It was a rocky isle that could be crossed on foot in an hour.
Scattered across the island were hollows carved into the stone floor. Each one was invariably packed with useful items wrapped tightly in oil-treated leather.
Canvas to replace the torn sails, pitch to seal the cracked hull, dried fruits and jerky hardened like stone, and fresh water besides.
Leaving the Uninhabited Island behind, we altered our course southeast and sailed for a day.
By midday the next day, what we sought appeared. A current. A swift current enveloped the vessel and in an instant carried us northward once more.
The current was remarkably fast, and the wind was favorable enough that we enjoyed a pleasant voyage for the first time in ages. The sails, spread like the wings of white birds, showed no sign of flagging for hours.
Boris forgot even the cold, marveling at the small boat’s speed. Indeed, the chill was gradually weakening. March was drawing to a close.
It was the first day of April.
It was the dead of night when Boris suddenly sensed something amiss and stirred awake.
Lying still for about half an hour, I realized the boat’s movement was strange. It felt as though we were spinning in great circles.
“You’re awake?”
Isildor San, seated at the stern, had been gazing quietly into the darkness before speaking.
“How did you know?”
“I heard your eyes open.”
“….”
Boris sat up, preparing to exchange pleasantries. Then Isildor San spoke again, his voice low.
“Be careful.”
“Of what?”
Isildor San was scrutinizing the darkness intently, as if searching for something tangible—or perhaps something without form.
“From here on, we enter the Island’s domain. When we land, you will meet the Island’s people for the first time—the Pilgrims, aside from myself and Dansen.”
Boris nodded and asked again.
“But what should I be careful of?”
“People. People are what I fear most.”
Boris yawned once and continued speaking.
“You’re the most terrifying one I know.”
“Where else would you find someone as magnanimous as I, you wretch?”
Boris shook his head.
“You made me follow you to this distant place. I never harbored thoughts of returning to my homeland, nor did I ever imagine having a new one. Yet you made me willing to walk into a strange community with my own feet.”
Boris’s lips curved upward on one side.
“The more I reflect on it, the more terrifying it becomes. You made me exchange a part of my freedom to be with you. Not in blame, but in truth—you made me want to do so.”
Words I had harbored in my heart for so long flowed out easily, borrowed from the darkness.
Isildor San did not respond, like a boy caught off guard by an unexpected confession from a young girl.
Eventually, Isildor San opened his mouth slowly.
“No one knows if it is the right thing. But now that we’ve begun, I will tell you to see it through. If you are despised and shunned by strangers, will you collapse?”
“Perhaps. I might stumble for a while before rising again.”
“But won’t you resent me as you stagger?”
“Does that frighten you?”
The situation had reversed itself. Boris spoke as though he were the one concerned for Isildor San, who was originally of the Island.
“Don’t be afraid. Life is but a fleeting moment—what is there to fear?”
Isildor San was left speechless by the absurdity, then made a gesture of boxing the boy’s head from a distance.
“This brat steals others’ words and tries to teach them back.”
Boris laughed without concern.
“Isn’t it the right age to imitate adults? It happens.”
“And now self-justification too. You’re truly hopeless.”
“I was never useful to begin with. Why not use me as a stake on the island?”
“If there were firewood to use as a stake, I’d warm my body instead. You say this because you don’t know how cold it is there.”
“Actually, becoming a stake is my dream. If I were driven deep into the frozen ground and couldn’t budge an inch, that would be truly magnificent.”
Isildor San shook his head and spoke.
“Have you truly resolved to adapt to the island? When you don’t even know what kind of place it is?”
Boris lifted his chin high—a mischievous expression he would never wear except before Isildor San.
“You said I’d be bound by a yoke, right? I’m planning to be firmly tethered to that stake instead. Then I won’t flee without knowing it myself.”
Isildor San said nothing. Normally he would have pinched the boy’s cheeks several times while saying, “You cheeky brat, where do you get off?” But he simply looked at Boris’s face.
Boris too had deliberately acted out of character, even resorting to jokes he didn’t usually make.
“May it continue.”
At first, I didn’t understand what he meant. Isildor San’s voice that followed became far more resolute.
“No, it must continue. Whether it’s baseless hope or courage—half of it is your foolishness, and half is my greed. We’ve come this far, so it’s clearly a shared responsibility. Let me help you properly. Whether we can shatter solid rock with our strength. I won’t leave your side until the end, so…”
Isildor San extended his hand and grasped Boris’s right hand firmly.
“Don’t you leave my side either.”
It was not merely words meant to kindle hope. Isildor San was making a vow.
The boy didn’t fully comprehend it, but Isildor San was swearing to himself that he would protect this child.
The reason things had come to this was ultimately because he didn’t want to let this boy go. He wanted to keep him close—a small hole through which to breathe.
So now it was his turn to protect the boy.
“We wait for the ebb tide to come.”
Isildor San’s voice rose.
“Someday the ebb tide will come.”
“When the ebb tide comes, we’ll walk back. We won’t worry about the vast sea.”
The two faced each other and smiled. A moment later, Isildor San whispered.
“Ebb Tide Island.”

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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