Chapter 87

“Vicente? Manteo? Is everyone all right?”

“Aside from a stiff neck from sleeping in the carriage last night, I’m perfectly fine! In fact, I feel refreshed!”

“My apologies for the delay, Sir Nemo. The villagers insisted we stay just a little longer…”

“Not at all. That’s also part of winning the people’s hearts. You’ve all worked hard.”

One by one, the companions who had been scattered began to return.

A quick headcount confirmed that no one was missing or injured, and I finally allowed myself to relax. So, no one from Virginia died because of me.

In terms of material losses, the Porter—along with the camper I had so painstakingly built—was gone. But since I wasn’t traveling alone and had always matched the Porter’s speed to the other carriages anyway, it didn’t really matter. My personal life had just become a little more inconvenient, that was all.

Ugh, what a waste.

My cozy bedroom with a view of the stars, the mobile kitchen and workshop… to think that months of effort to build that fully-equipped camper have all vanished into thin air…

Sigh. Nothing to be done about it.

I’m the one who wrecked it with my reckless driving. There’s no one else to blame.

In any case, apart from the inconveniences I would now face in washing, eating, and sleeping, there were no major disruptions to our plans. In fact, now wasn’t the time to continue the tour anyway. We had visited the main areas where misunderstandings had arisen, and I had never intended this to be my only tour. We decided to wrap it up here.

“For now, please provide the affected tribes with axes, hammers, and various other tools. We’ll ignore their contribution grades for this special distribution.”

The immediate priority was recovery from the hurricane.

I took stock of the situation with the Lenape.

Most of the tribes, including not only those who had joined our gift-exchange network but also those who had not yet formally affiliated, had survived. However, even without loss of life, the damage to their settlements was severe, as most were located near water sources or in valleys. Their food situation had also deteriorated overnight. It was unavoidable. People who had evacuated in a hurry couldn’t have carried many possessions with them—a few days’ worth of food and some simple tools would have been the extent of it. The hurricane had submerged most of their stored grain and their homes. There was no clear path forward for them to survive.

Still, there was one piece of good news…

“With a little time, it looks like these can sail again.”

“What about the cargo inside? Is it safe?”

“Ah, yes, of course. Everything is still secure.”

The ships we had left anchored and the cargo within them were relatively unscathed. Of course, there was significant damage—broken masts, collapsed decks—but Raleigh reported that it was all repairable with local resources.

“That’s a relief, Walter. I’ll be counting on you, then.”

“…Yes.”

“…”

“…”

“Walter? You have a strange look on your face. Are you all ri—”

“I am fine.”

And with that, Raleigh finished his report and turned away abruptly.

What was that about?

Ever since our last conversation, he had been wearing a complicated expression whenever he looked at me. It even seemed like he was avoiding talking to me.

Did I say something strange?

All I said was something along the lines of, ‘Since I don’t die anyway, isn’t it a good deal to go around saving people?’ What’s so odd about that?

…Did I misspeak somewhere else?

Well, probably not. Even if I did make a small mistake, he’ll come around soon enough. Raleigh isn’t the type to distance himself from me so easily.

In any case, the important thing was that the cargo in the ships was safe. And among the most important cargo were glass beads, guns, jars…

“The-the potatoes are safe too!”

“Thank goodness! Let’s get them ready at once!”

And potatoes.

There were, of course, many other luxury goods, but the farther north we traveled, the more food became an issue, so many tribes preferred to receive sustenance in our gift exchanges. And having come this far, near the Delaware region, the remaining tribes were mostly those who lived in higher-latitude areas like New England and Canada. It was only natural that we had a large supply of potatoes left for them.

In addition, we had a surplus of steel axes, hammers, saws, and other tools originally intended for the tribes further north. These were now hastily distributed under the name ‘Affiliated Tribes Special Disaster Insurance.’

“Uh… can we join as well? We don’t mind starting at a low grade!”

“W-we’ll join too! Please accept us!”

There was more good news. The tribes that hadn’t been part of our trade network before the disaster all signed up in an instant. Furthermore, since they had already relocated to the safe zone, many decided to settle in the area for good, leading to a sort of absorption and integration among the tribes. This was all excellent news. The tribes were gathering in one place, they were all coming under our influence, and they were finding places to settle down.

“Everyone! Look here! You’re going to cut this into four pieces! Just like this, see?”

Wasn’t this the perfect time to hand out potatoes?

It was late July, and the potato planting season extended through the end of August, so fortunately, they could start farming immediately. The sailors and attendants who had come for trade found themselves giving impromptu lessons on potato farming, but no one found it particularly difficult. It was something they had all experienced back at the Virginia settlement. I quickly dispatched one of the intact ships south with instructions to give the northern tribes different gifts, so using the potatoes here wouldn’t mean others would go hungry.

With the immediate food crisis more or less resolved… all that was left was to build the trading post and a chapel for the staff who would be stationed there.

“…Is this the site?”

After handling matters inland, I returned to the coastal village, where the bishop from Croatoan who had been dispatched here met me.

“Ah… yes, it is. The villagers have been a great help, so progress has been swift. This here is the warehouse, this is the office space, and over here… the chapel will be built.”

“The site for the chapel seems rather large, doesn’t it? And it’s a bit remote from the village.”

I asked out of genuine curiosity.

Our ‘Nemo Sect’ didn’t engage in aggressive proselytizing among the native people. Any friction or conflict that arose from such efforts would only result in losses for us. Therefore, the chapels built at each trading post were meant to be nothing more than small prayer spaces for the dozen or so staff members who would reside there.

But this site… just looking at the pillars erected in the ground, it was large enough to hold at least a hundred people.

Why are they building it like this? And so far from the village?

“Th-the members of the nearby tribes requested it.”

“…Ah.”

“Please, look at the ground.”

At his words, I looked down and saw a circle of stones laid out, with a thin line faintly carved over them. Looking around, I saw that these marked stones formed a complete circle, enclosing the entire chapel grounds. It was only then that I understood.

This crooked line was a copy of the one I had drawn.

The area within that line…

It had been the safe zone from the storm that had raged that day.

For some reason, I found it difficult to speak. A silence too precious for me to break had settled over the area. As I looked around, I saw flowers and seashell beads placed near the marked stones—offerings left by the people as they came and went.

About two months passed after the day of the storm.

It was time to leave for Virginia.

Late September, and early October.

Once the repairs on the ships were mostly finished, we loaded the remaining cargo and boarded. With fewer gifts received and a significant amount of cargo offloaded, the ships felt light as they pulled away from the coast with a smooth glide.

As I stood quietly on the prow, sipping wine and watching the horizon stretch out to my left and the sun set to my right…

Thud.

I heard the sound of footsteps.

Turning, I saw the man who had been avoiding me, standing a short distance away, watching me. The reflection of my own image in his eyes seemed as distant as the faint moon in the sky, and the emotions that pooled like shadows in the contours of his face before evaporating created a complex atmosphere.

“Walter?”

Raleigh gently took the wine cup from my hand, brought it to his own lips, and then, pulling something from his pocket, he spoke.

“Do you remember this knife?”

It was a shoemaker’s knife. Before I could even answer, a phantom ache shot through my body, making it difficult to form words.

It was a knife my body remembered.

“…Is that the knife that… stabbed me?”

Raleigh nodded.

“And the knife that nearly stabbed me. Do you remember?”

Thud.

He took another step closer, showing me the knife.

“You are the savior of my life.”

***

He had many names.

The name he received at his baptism was Walter Raleigh, a glorious name passed down from his ancestors.

As the Queen’s favorite, he had an affectionate nickname from her: Water, a name born from her inability to properly pronounce the ‘l’ in Walter.

In terms of title, ‘Sir’ had once preceded his name, but now, as a proper landed nobleman, he had earned the splendid new title of Baron of Roanoke.

Beyond these, there were countless other nicknames given to him by the masses, filled with both respect and contempt. Years ago, after halting the Black Death in London, he had even earned the undeserved appellation of ‘Saint.’

But more important than all those honorable, common, lowly, and noble names was one he held above all others.

“People have taken to calling me ‘Apostle,’ an honor I do not deserve.”

Apostle. One who is sent forth to spread the word of the Lord.

He cherished that name above all others.

It was not a name given by his parents or a lover. Nor was it bestowed by a sovereign or the masses.

“You saved me, and you gave me my mission.”

That name had been given to him by the one who had saved his life and reshaped his very soul.

“You protected me from a multitude of blades.”

Raleigh spoke in a low voice, listening to the sound of the waves around them. They were alone. The sun cast its last rays from the west, stretching their shadows long before them.

“I am a man you saved. I live my life bearing a debt to you that can never be repaid.”

“…”

In response, Nemo offered only an enigmatic smile. Raleigh pressed on.

“That is why I must speak. I cannot understand. Why do you save people while accepting such immense pain? I am still struggling with that ‘simple arithmetic’ of yours. Why do you endure such suffering? Why… why do you put yourself through such hardship?”

Raleigh had seen it.

When he had taken out the shoemaker’s knife, He had flinched, curling into Himself ever so slightly. For a brief moment, He had lost his balance and staggered. Beneath His transcendent composure, the pains He had endured were piling up, eating away at Him.

He thrust the knife deep into his coat and continued.

“No one living in this fallen world could ever comprehend the ‘simple arithmetic’ you spoke of. No, I doubt that even Noah, Daniel, or Job, were they to be reborn and walk this earth again, could understand it.”

His tone, which had been quiet and deliberate, now burned with the fervor of an impassioned speech. But even as Raleigh’s words grew heated, He remained perfectly calm. He was about to speak, but Raleigh raised a forefinger to His lips.

“…But I know what you are going to say.”

“Do you?”

“Yes, of course. That simple arithmetic… it is something a man can never understand. Because it is not something to be known and understood.”

At that, the corners of Nemo’s mouth turned up slightly. Emboldened, Raleigh continued.

“It is not something to be solved by knowing and understanding, but something to be felt. Its answer can only be revealed and illuminated by the most primordial and noble light that shines within the human heart… Am I correct?”

Silence.

And then, a smile.

Yes. He was right.

The master says that he was right.

Raleigh clutched his swelling heart and continued, his voice like a prayer.

“People… they say that you can perform these acts because you are an angel, that you show us such a sublime form because you are a great messenger of the Lord. No. That is the prattling of fools. Everything you do is, in fact, something we too are capable of doing. We can be as noble as you. We may not possess a body that does not die as you do, nor can we see the future, but a person can be as noble as you.”

Then Nemo raised a finger to the heavens and added one more thing.

“‘…When they shall rise from the dead, they neither marry, nor are given in marriage; but are as the angels which are in heaven.’”

The Gospel of Mark, 12:25.

“Indeed… it is so.”

Raleigh bowed his head in reply.

“We can all be as sublime as you.”

“That is enough. If you know that, then—”

“But because we do not act so, you suffer.”

At those words, His smile faded slightly.

Slowly, Raleigh knelt on one knee.

“Because man acts with depravity, because he does not reveal the nobility within him, you are made to suffer.”

“…I am fine.”

“I am not fine. Those who follow you are heartbroken by your pain.”

“…”

“But… how could I, a man you saved, dare to ask you not to suffer? How could I dare ask you not to save people? Therefore…”

Their eyes met.

A spark ignited, flaring from both their souls.

“…Only let me lessen your pain.”

Nemo extended his hand.

“Only… let me act alongside you.”

Raleigh grasped that hand.

“So that man may become as noble as you.”

All my loyalty. All my passion. All my life.

To you.

Ah, you have truly come as a model for humanity.

You are truly a messenger of the Lord.

And so, Raleigh offered his prayer.

He engraved that prayer upon his heart.

***

The chieftains of the Lenape gathered for a council.

“…And so, everyone here has now received a grade and become part of this ‘Virginia Community.’”

“Indeed… How could we not?”

“…”

“…”

“…”

They faced a problem that a single village, a single clan, could not solve alone.

They did not gather in the large village they had always used as a meeting place. Nor did they go to the newly built meeting hall on the coast. Instead, they made their way to a spot on a dirt road. A place where the scorched ashes, though washed by the storm, still remained. There they gathered, setting up their tents and beginning their discussion.

“Many have testified that this is where His great run began,” someone said, taking a long drag from a pipe. The others nodded, murmuring their agreement.

“Then… let us place a milestone here to begin. We need to build a road for the wagons to transport the gifts anyway.”

“From here to the coast? That will be a formidable distance.”

“It is. And that is precisely why we must build a road.”

“…”

“…”

“…”

One hundred and ninety kilometers.

Yes, it was a formidable distance.

And someone had run that formidable distance, day and night.

And because of it, dozens, no, hundreds, had survived.

Someone spoke again. If we are to place a milestone here, what say we build places for the wagon drivers to rest along the way?

Another replied. A fine idea. That would quicken the passage of the gifts.

Someone else added. This road will not be merely for the passage of gifts. It will be a path upon which a memory we must engrave upon this land for as long as we live will travel. Anyone who commits an offense here shall be punished severely in the name of all our tribes.

Everyone nodded in agreement.

Another clapped his hands. At the end of this road lies the sanctuary of the ‘Master’ whom He serves. Why don’t we all walk there together? If only to observe the work of paving the road.

A moment of silence.

One by one, the chieftains rose to their feet.

After a few more words, the chieftains, some moving with ease and others with the heavy weight of their years, began to walk toward the southern coast.

Following the path that a man, covered in blood, had once walked.