Disclaimer: Nausicaä of the Valley of Wind © Hayao Miyazaki/Animage/Studio Ghibli. This work is not intended for commercial gain nor to infringe on any of these copyrights.
The End of the Beginning
Nausicaä jumped down the last few feet from the Flying Jar's ladder, her boots landing with a solid thump on the cold, dusty earth. There was carnage everywhere—dead insects, burning machines, the still-twitching remains of heedra, and men staring sightlessly up at the winter sky . . . .
But she paid the terrible vista no heed. Her attention was focused on the still form in red clothes, sprawled face-down in the gully about twenty feet away from her.
She reached the figure and carefully turned it on its side. It was wearing a solid metal breastplate with a big gash in front, and she quickly unfastened it, preparing herself for what she might find underneath. As she worked the straps, she remembered another girl, victim of another war, ages ago.
"Mama?" said a soft voice. The prone figure's eyes fluttered open. "Teacher . . . ."
"Lie still." Nausicaä tossed the clamshell halves of the armor away and set about making her former pupil as comfortable as possible.
There was the sound of crunching gravel. The wind-rider turned in the direction of the noise. "May I borrow your cloak?"
Without a word Kushana, Empress of Torumekia, who had come to stand beside her friend, unfastened her garment and handed it over. Nausicaä laid it on the ground.
"This may hurt a bit, so brace yourself. One, two . . . three!"
The young woman groaned as she was rolled onto the cloak, and for the first time the weak sunlight shone on the bloody furrow in the middle of her torso.
"How bad?" Nausicaä could barely make out her words.
"Not too bad," she said steadily. "You'll have another scar to add to your collection. Boys will be all the more intimidated by you, dear heart." She paused to glance at Kushana, who then scrambled and disappeared over the lip of the gully.
"Really?" The young woman laughed feebly. A bright rivulet of blood ran down her cheek. "Just my luck . . . ."
Nausicaä reached for her hand and gave it a squeeze. "Just hang in there. Help'll be here soon. I'm with you."
The girl nodded.
Nausicaä wiped the blood off the waxen face with the back of a glove. "Hoclero?"
"I-I don't know." Glancing past her teacher at the sky, she added, sounding infinitely weary, "I'm so sad."
"You did what you had to do."
"I know, but . . . even after all that's happened, I don't really hate him. If I could've found another way . . . . Curse this war."
The young woman's expression changed; it appeared as though she were listening to something. Her gaze caught Nausicaä's. "Highness, please tell my mother to be happy. I will be . . . traveling on . . . ."
The Child of the Wind closed her eyes. Her cold hand released her teacher's and fell to the still, wet earth.
Some minutes passed before three people came upon the tableau of the Blue-Clad One bent over the figure in red, a tiny splash of color over another, unmoving amid the gray flotsam of the world scattered around them.
Nausicaä looked up at them. "Please." The calm was in her voice; the despair was in her eyes. "Master of the Garden, can you save her?"