The Echo of a Dead Language

She averted her eyes, her face a carefully sculpted mask of disinterest. Her calculated indifference was beginning to grate on me.

I observed the subtle, involuntary twitch of a muscle beneath her eye. So, she could hear and understand me perfectly. I was still mulling over what to do about this silent, enigmatic companion when a voice, distinct from the market’s general din, called out my name.

“Axel.”

I turned in the direction of the sound. It was Kyoto, skillfully weaving his way through the dense throng of people.

“Well? What is it?” I asked, a smirk playing on my lips. “Feeling lonely already?”

“No, that’s not it,” he replied, his expression marked by an uncharacteristic gravity.

“A problem, then? I gave you every last coin that was in my possession. There’s nothing left to give.”

“No, the money isn't the issue,” he insisted, shaking his head. “It’s the language. The language is the problem.”

“The language?”

“Yes. A few moments after I left you, the speech of everyone around me devolved into… incoherence.”

“What exactly were they speaking?”

“Gibberish,” he said, his eyes wide with remembered confusion. “A language I have never encountered before, utterly alien. The shift was so disorienting that I decided to find you and ask what was happening. Your… distinctive clothing made you easy to spot from a distance,” he elaborated. “But just now, as I drew nearer, everyone suddenly reverted to speaking perfect Nihonese. Do you have any idea what’s going on?” He looked genuinely baffled. He was completely serious.

Wait a moment. He claimed everyone had started speaking Nihonese again? Was that even possible?

“Did you just say they are all speaking Nihonese to you right now?” I asked, my own tone shifting to match his gravity.

“Huh? What are you talking about? Aren’t you speaking Nihonese at this very moment?”

“No,” I stated slowly, enunciating each word. “I am speaking English.”

“You are speaking perfect Nihonese,” he countered, adamant. “Completely fluent, in fact.”

And just like that, the pieces clicked into place. Of course. It wasn’t that the inhabitants of this world spoke English; it was some form of automatic translation effect. A boon from the Deity—wasn't that one of the abilities the Little Princess had alluded to? That had to be the explanation. I recalled that while their written language was unintelligible to me, I could comprehend their speech. The magic must only translate the spoken word, and only within a certain proximity to me.

But if Kyoto lost the benefit of the translation when he walked away, did that mean he didn’t possess a similar ability of his own? Why? We were all summoned together. Was his boon somehow inferior to mine? No, that didn't feel right. Something else had to be at play.

My gaze drifted back to the silent woman standing nearby. Could she be the source? She had been with me this entire time. But no, that wasn’t right either. I could understand the local tongue from the moment I arrived, and she hadn't been present before the summoning ceremony this morning.

The threads of this mystery were already becoming a tangled mess.

“Listen,” I said, attempting to articulate my theory as clearly as possible. “To my ears, you and everyone else are speaking English. To your ears, I and everyone else are speaking Nihonese. That has to mean some kind of translation magic is active. Centered on me, just as you suspected.”

He nodded slowly, processing the information.

“Why it’s limited to just me, I don’t know yet,” I admitted. “Since we were all summoned, perhaps we each received different gifts. Different boons.”

The implications of my words seemed to finally dawn on him. “So if I don’t have it, then the other two probably don’t either,” he mused. “They must be just as lost. We should go find them.”

I agreed. My eyes scanned the area and quickly found the beautiful, sullen woman from our original group. She was standing not far off, observing us, her expression a potent mixture of frustration and isolation. She was clearly in the same predicament.

I raised a hand in a small, conciliatory wave. Her eyes met mine for a fleeting second before she deliberately turned her back and vanished behind a colorful food stall. This woman was certainly going to be difficult.

Just as I took a step to pursue her, a commotion erupted from a nearby stall.

“You worthless filth!” a man’s voice boomed across the plaza. “How dare you bump into me!”

The furious shout came from a portly man swathed in expensive-looking silks. Kyoto, the woman, and I all turned instinctively toward the sound. The portly man was furiously striking something on the ground with a heavy, ornate walking stick.

As I looked closer, I identified his target. He was swinging his cane at a small girl, who was crouched low on the cobblestones, attempting to shield an even smaller child with her own body. Ugly crimson welts and deep blue bruises already blossomed on the exposed skin of her arms, neck, and back.

My mind struggled to process the scene. Was this man, clearly an affluent lord of some kind, publicly beating children? And not a single person was moving to stop him? Could a simple, accidental bump have provoked such a savage reaction?

To hell with it. There was no time for analysis. I had to intervene.

I broke into a sprint, but the woman was already moving. I had reacted on pure instinct, but she was closer and had moved with equal speed. She had not hesitated for even a fraction of a second.

She threw herself over the children, taking the full force of the blow meant for them across her back. The heavy cane connected with a sickening, wet thud. A red welt immediately bloomed on the exposed skin of her back, yet she didn’t so much as whimper. She simply absorbed the impact, her face obscured by a curtain of long, black hair. She would never show it, but I knew the pain must have been immense. A raw and powerful maternal instinct had driven her to shield those children.

“What is this?” the fat man sputtered, momentarily caught off guard. “Who are you? Are you their mother?!” He hefted his stick once more, preparing for another swing.

I finally managed to shove my way through the ring of passive onlookers. I let my forward momentum transform into a feigned, clumsy stumble, crashing into the noble and tackling him ‘by accident’.

“Whoops, my apologies,” I grunted, landing squarely on his broad back and driving him face-first to the ground. “It’s the heat and the crowds, you know? Makes a man dizzy.” While feigning lightheadedness, I made certain my weight was anything but gentle. My elbow found a tender spot between his shoulder blades, and my knee drove hard into the back of his shin—my entire weight focused on his weak points. As I ‘pushed’ myself up, I made sure to press his face firmly into the dirt. He let out a pained, porcine squeal.

Two burly men suddenly shouldered their way out of the crowd. “Lord Vazzan!” His bodyguards, no doubt.

“Gaaah! Get him off me!” he wheezed from the cobblestones. The bodyguards shoved me aside and hauled the portly noble to his feet.

“You peasant!” he shrieked, spittle flying from his lips. I noted with a flicker of satisfaction that one of his front teeth was now conspicuously absent. “You have no right! Do you have any idea who I am?”

“My deepest apologies, my lord,” I said, offering a placating gesture. “It was an accident. The crowd surged, and I was pushed.” I vaguely motioned toward one of the bodyguards. It was a complete and utter lie, of course.

The burly men shook their heads, their expressions fearful.

“It matters not!” the noble bellowed. “You were the one who struck me and cost me a tooth!”

“Hold on!” Kyoto had arrived, stepping forward from behind me. “You would assault someone for accidentally bumping into you on a crowded street?”

“What kind of twisted logic is that?” the noble roared for all to hear. “Are you a simpleton?!”

“WHAT? A SIM—DID YOU JUST CALL ME A SIMPLETON?!” Kyoto looked personally and deeply offended, launching into a theatrical tirade. “So, because you possess wealth, you have the right to beat people? Because you have a higher station? What in the world? What if someone who was ill had bumped into you? What if a blind man had bumped into you? In fact, what would you do if you bumped into a lamppost? Would you attack the helpless lamppost? Honestly!” Kyoto’s voice dripped with exaggerated victimhood.

The onlookers, who had been cowed into silence before, began to murmur amongst themselves and then chuckle at the fat noble’s expense. The tide of public opinion was visibly turning against him.

“YOU! BEAT THEM! BEAT THEM UP NOW!” the noble shrieked, backing away from the jeering crowd and pointing a trembling, sausage-like finger at us.

As his two brutes took a menacing step toward us, their master let out another cry.

“Aaah! What do you think you’re doing?”

I glanced past them. The fat noble was no longer retreating. A towering old man now stood directly in his path—the same peculiar man with the straitjacket-like trousers and dangling belts. It was the mad old man, Voktah.

His grim features cracked into a wide, malevolent smile. “You just ran into me.”

He bent down and smoothly picked up the fallen walking stick.

“Here,” he said, his smile turning sly, “allow me to help you up.”

He lifted the cane high, and it sliced through the air with a vicious whistle before it descended.

CRACK!

The sound of hard wood on soft flesh was sickeningly clear.

“GYAAAAH!” The noble let out a shrill, girlish scream.

“Oh, my mistake,” Voktah said calmly. “Did you require more assistance?” He swung again.

CRACK!

The sound was even louder this time.

“UWAAAA!” The noble tried to shield his head, and the blow caught him squarely on the right shoulder.

“My lord!” The two bodyguards finally snapped out of their stupor and rushed toward their master. One attempted to intercept Voktah and was rewarded with a sharp crack of the cane to his ribs for his trouble. The other struggled to get the whimpering noble upright.

“GET ME OUT OF HERE!”

The bodyguard practically carried the blubbering lord away.

“I’ll remember this!” the noble screamed over his shoulder. “You’ll not get away with harming a noble to protect some… some demi!”

So, he was a noble after all.

“Anytime, fatso!” I yelled after him as he was swallowed by the dispersing crowd.

A smattering of applause broke out, and a few onlookers approached to offer their thanks and admiration. I gave them a brief nod of acknowledgment before turning my attention to the woman and the children.

“Are you all right?” I asked, my eyes on the angry red line bisecting her back. It would likely be gone in a day or two.

“I’m fine,” she said, her voice tight with concern. “But the children…”

Just as I suspected. Beneath that icy, abrasive exterior was a fiercely compassionate woman.

Both children were unconscious. The younger one, perhaps eight years old, had likely fainted from sheer terror. The older girl, who looked to be about thirteen, seemed to have passed out from the pain of the beating. As I checked her injuries, I noticed something unusual. Peeking out from the hair atop each of their heads was a pair of soft, brown rabbit ears.

“Rabbit ears!” Kyoto gasped, his serious demeanor having completely evaporated. “We just saved a pair of bunny-girl lolis!” He seemed to instantly grasp the significance of this.

“You know what they are?” I asked him.

“Of course! That fat noble said we protected a ‘demi.’ He must have meant a demi-human! A race of people with animalistic features.”

“And you know this how?”

“It’s common knowledge!” he declared with authority. “Standard stuff in any world that has magic!”

“Right. We can debate the finer points of fantasy tropes later,” I cut in. “For now, let’s get out of here and find somewhere safe to look after them.”

I moved to lift the older girl into my arms. We needed to get the unconscious children to a healer, or at the very least, into a quiet room. As we turned to leave, the woman moved with us without a word. To my surprise, old Voktah also fell into step, rejoining our group as if he had never left.

I was beginning to get a read on these people. This ugly, unforeseen incident, it seemed, had served as an unwilling crucible, forcing each of us to reveal a piece of our true character.