The train didn't stop at Littleleaf for even a half minute. From that alone Gray knew it was a very small town. The station consisted of a sunshade and two platforms. There were lush green meadows on either side. A ticket office could be seen in the distance, but that was it. Littleleaf was one of the most barebones stations Gray had been to.
"So." He glanced at Erza. "We're in the middle of nowhere. Now what?"
"Now, we go to the village," she replied, studying the quest request.
"How?"
"We shall find out." She smiled at him. "Consider it an adventure!"
Gray sighed. Adventures were nice if the adventurers got paid. Then again, all expenses were being paid by Erza, so he couldn't complain.
"Right. Well, we should head for the ticket office. Maybe there'll be someone around who can tell us what to do."
"Good idea."
The man at the ticket office came to meet them himself. He shook both their hands, and welcomed them warmly and profusely. He told them how they were the first visitors to Littleleaf in three years, and that the Gods had finally answered his prayers.
Immediately, Gray had misgivings. The man, who introduced himself as Jeremy McCarthy, was entirely too happy for his own good. He was missing a few teeth, bald, and wore an eye patch. Nobody looking that way could, or should, be so happy.
"I'm a little lame, see," he said with a grin, "I ain't as spry as I used to be."
Erza smiled at him kindly. "That is fine. Can you tell us, good sir, how far the town of Littleleaf is from the station? And how we may reach there?"
"Aye, I sure can. Been waitin' three years, see?" His grin widened. "What you do is, lady, you take this here path leadin' out the station, aye? And then you take it straight as it leads you, until you find a culvert. But don't cross the culvert. No, you keep walkin', the culvert on your right, until you pass by a grove of peach trees. You enter this grove, and take the first left that comes. You take that left and you keep goin' until you see a dead tree barrin' your way. Go right, and you'll find yourself outta the grove, and the culvert on your right. But don't cross the culvert." Erza started taking notes. "Now you'll see a mill in the distance. You walk to that mill. Then you take a left and go through the carrot field. Keep goin' until you find a small pond. Go around this here pond to the right and take the first path that takes you right. You'll find yourselves in front of the culvert."
"And we don't cross," Gray said.
The man tilted his head. "Nawp, you cross there. There's a small bridge, see. Anyway, you cross, and you walk straight ahead until you bump into a post. That post'll tell you how far you're away from Littleleaf."
"Culvert, peach grove, left, dead tree, right, culvert, mill, left, carrots, pond, right, right, culvert, cross, post." Erza looked up from her notes. "Is that right?"
The man nodded. "Or if you wanna save time, you can just step out and get on Johnny's dogcart. I know you city folks're always in a hur–"
Latching on to Erza's bicep, Gray dragged her out of the station and towards the dogcart waiting under the shade of a tree. No wonder people don't come here.
"Where to?" the dogcart driver asked once they'd taken a seat. While he didn't seem all giddy like the station-master, he seemed happy, too. Gray's bad feelings intensified.
"The Old Church in Littleleaf," Erza replied. "Do you know it? We are to meet someone named Joshua there."
"Yeah, I know it."
"Is it far?"
"Nah. Just around the bend over yonder."
Gray asked, "Do we hafta cross a culvert or not?"
Johnny looked at him, confused. "What culvert?"
"Uh-huh." He got up to hop off. "When's the next train outta here?"
Erza grabbed his coat and stopped him. "You will sit, Gray. The village needs our help. We have to save it from disappearing."
"Sure look like a lively bunch for folks whose village is about'ta disappear," Gray muttered but said nothing more. The cart rolled along the dirt road, and the vibrant green fields soon mollified him. Annoying as the station-master was, the place was rather pretty. It was calm. A cool breeze ruffled his hair and made the fluffy clouds on high mosey along lazily. It made for excellent napping conditions.
Johnny stopped his horse at the foot of a small hill and pointed at the top with his whip. "Up top's the Old Church. Over the hill is Littleleaf. My horse is old, so I don't want to strain him."
"That's all right. How much for the ride?"
As Erza settled the accounts, Gray started walking up the hill. Having worked up a slight sweat by the climb, he leant his forearms against the low stone wall that guarded the church. He stood there and let the wind whisk away his exhaustion.
It was an idyllic landscape – the grey old church with its clustering ivy and its quaint carved wooden porch, the white lane winding down the hill between tall rows of elms, the thatched-roof cottages peeping above their trim-kept hedges, the silver river in the hollow, the wooded hills beyond – it all made him feel calm and noble. At that moment, Gray felt like he didn't want to be sinful anymore. He would move to Littleleaf and lead a peaceful and blameless life, full of spiritual fulfilment.
In that moment, he forgave all his friends and relations. Even Natsu. He forgave them of all their dumbassery, and blessed them. Of course, they did not know that he had blessed them. They went their abandoned way all unconscious of what he, far away in this peaceful village, was doing for them; but he did it, and wished that he could let them know that he had done it, because he wanted to make them happy. Gray was going on thinking away all these grand, tender thoughts, when his reverie was broken in upon by a shrill piping voice crying out:
"All right, sur, I'm a-coming, I'm a-coming. It's all right, sur; don't you be in a hurry."
He looked up and saw old bald-headed man hobbling across the churchyard towards him, carrying a bunch of keys that jumped and jingled with every step.
What now?
"I'm a-coming, sur, I'm a-coming," the man screeched as he advanced. Gray frowned. "My missis never see you till just this minute. You follow me, sur."
"And go where?"
He seemed surprised. "Don't you want to see the tombs?"
"No, I don't," Gray replied. "Why'd I wanna see tombs?"
"Are you sure you don't be wantin' to see the tombs, sur?"
"Yes. I want to stand here, leaning against this gritty old wall. My head's full of beautiful and noble thoughts now, so don't ruin it."
He was bewildered for a moment. He rubbed his eyes, and looked hard at Gray. He said: "Yuise a stranger in these parts? You don't live here?"
"No," Gray replied, starting to get irritated. "You wouldn't if I did."
"Well then," he said, "you want to see the tombs — graves — folks been buried, you know — coffins!"
All the beautiful and noble thoughts he'd built up, all his desires to be non-violent and lead a pure life, they all came burning down. Gray grimaced. "I don't wanna see tombs — not your tombs. Why should I? We have graves of our own, our family has. Why, my teacher Ul has a tomb in Saints Cemetery. It's the pride of all that country-side. And my father's vault is capable of accommodating eight visitors, while my mother Mika has a brick grave in Bergstad Churchyard, with a headstone with a coffee-pot sort of thing in bas-relief upon it, and a six-inch best white stone coping all the way round, that cost jewels. When I want graves, it is to those places that I go and revel. I don't want other folk's. When you yourself are buried, I'll come and see yours. That's all I can do for you."
The man burst into tears. He said that one of the tombs had a bit of stone upon the top of it that had been said by some to be probably part of the remains of the figure of a man, and that another had some words, carved upon it, that nobody had ever been able to decipher.
Gray still remained obdurate, and, in broken-hearted tones, the old man said, "Well, won't you come and see the memorial window?"
He would not even see that, so the man fired his last shot. He drew near, and whispered hoarsely:
"I've got a couple of skulls down in the crypt," he said, "come and see those. Oh, do come and see the skulls! You are a young man out for a holiday, and you want to enjoy yourself. Come and see the skulls!"
Then Gray turned and fled, and as he sped, he heard him calling: "Oh, come and see the skulls; come back and see the skulls!"
Coming here was a mistake! They're all nuts! I'm outta here!
He saw Erza speaking to an old lady on his mad dash back. Erza glanced up and hailed him, but he didn't stop.
"Gray! Gray, where're you going?!" she cried as he shot past.
"Home!" he shouted back over his shoulder.
"There are no trains for three days!"
Skidding to a halt, Gray whirled around, his brain refusing to translate Erza's words. "What."
"There are no trains for three days," she repeated, unimpressed. "And why are you running? We came to help."
"They don't need help, they're perfectly healthy!" He twirled his right index finger beside his temple. "Problems upstairs, but healthy otherwise. Besides, the village needs no help. The quest was probably a hoax. Whaddaya mean there're no trai–"
"Gray, don't be silly." She dragged him back towards the church by the arm. "These people need us."
"Yeah, well, I don't need them. Or the skulls."
"Skulls?"
He quickly sketched out his encounter with the old man. Erza, after listening to everything, nodded.
"I see," she said. "It makes sense."
"What makes sense?"
"I was talking to that man's wife. Littleleaf is famous for having the largest graveyard in the district. It is a tourist destination, or rather, it was." Erza stopped walking. "Like you heard, people stopped coming. A new train line was made, and Littleleaf was soon forgotten. Their main source of income is gone. They don't need saving in the literal sense, Gray." She paused. "They will disappear if they receive no economic aid."
Gray stood silently for a moment. Then he looked around. At the churchyard, at the trees, at the clouds and the birds. He pocketed his hands.
Not so idyllic after all, huh?
"So what do we do?" he asked.
Erza smiled. "We take their tours. See the tombs. Then we spread word. Get people to come here again. We have a platform, as Fairy Tail mages. We can help them."
Gray blew out a breath. The old man had come to stand beside his wife, cradling a skull in his hand like a newborn. Gray grimaced.
"Three days?"
"Three days."
The old man grinned. "You'll like them tombs, sur."
Gray lowered his face into his hands.