In any list of the finest anime episodes ever – a list in which Seirei no Moribito would be well-represented – Episode 3 would be a no-brainer.  There’s a certain irony in this, though – it did what it did so well that it fooled some audience members into thinking this was a different sort of series than it was.  And that, in turn, led to a measure of disappointment at the direction the show would take in its middle third.  A third, I might add, which might very well be my favorite part of the series (though truthfully, I doubt I could ever choose).

Imagine this – an anime which delivers the finest combat scenes in the medium’s history (at least on the TV side), and about which that isn’t even its outstanding feature.  That’s Moribito – and I don’t think I’m exaggerating.  I, for one, have never seen fight scenes as gorgeously choreographed as the two in this episode – the first between Balsa and the Hunters, the second between Jiguro and one of his old comrades from Kanbal (honestly, I’ve forgotten which one).  They still look as stunning as the day they aired – and the soundtrack adds so much to the impact.

But fight scenes don’t define this series, as historically great as they are.  Nor do any of the other elements it would brilliantly layer in over the next 23 episodes.  It’s the characters and the relationships between them that do that, and that’s the part of Seirei no Moribito I came to love the best.  This episode is really a showcase for Chagum – it’s where we begin to see that he’s not merely an ill-fated child, but a boy of real courage and resourcefulness.   And kindness too, as witness his interaction with the Hunter Jin.

With Balsa mortally wounded by the sword of Mon, the leader of the Hunters, it falls to Chagum to try and save her.  Balsa gives him directions to Tanda’s hut, but he’s clearly out of his depth here.  Or at least he should be.  I love how Kamiyama-sensei lingers on Chagum’s face as he stares at the rocks which form the “back of a great bear”.  He looks up, down, up again – no words are necessary, because we know what he’s thinking.  “Impossible!” – but then, just as quickly, he brings himself back into the moment and considers what will happen if he gives up.

This episode also introduces what will become a major part of the story going forward, through the hallucinations Balsa sees as she bleeds out on the forest floor.  At this point of course we have no way of knowing how Jiguro’s story will so elegiacally tie in to the present day – indeed, we don’t even know who this man is.  But Uehashi and Kamiyama do, and the way Kamiyama chooses to tie the past into the present is in my view a considerable improvement over the novels do (and indeed, a reflection of the fact that he knew he’d likely only have one season to do it).

Episode 4 is a different beast altogether, focusing on some of the many other elements that make up this narrative.  In many – frankly, all – ways, it’s much more representative of Seirei no Moribito as a whole.  It’s remarkable how many layers there are to this series.  Fantasy is one of them to be sure, and we get a glimmer of insight into what it is that may have possessed Chagum.  But on balance politics is even more elemental to Moribito (this is a theme that will recur throughout the entire novel series).  While the magical element is what drives much of the plot, it’s the politics of dealing with it that are most crucial to progressing that plot.

In truth though, it’s the characters who really make this series what it’s to become.  They’re so layered, so nuanced, so real.  And the way they interact with each other is spellbinding, even in the show’s quieter moments.  Tanda and Balsa have a long history, and though we don’t get many details of it Kamiyama is able to convey that without exposition by explanation – indeed, without even much contribution from Balsa, who’s unconscious for much of the episode.  Tanda communicates so much through his words and deeds, the way he calls Balsa “Oba-san” – tenderness, weariness, bemusement, and ultimately love.  We don’t need to have that explained to us – we can sense it in the air in the room.

Again, too, the small silent moments Kamiyama brings us are so memorable – such as Chagum cluelessly staring as Balsa is about to have her bandages changed, and the way Touya wordlessly spun him around.  And Chagum discovering hunger for the first time – the others find it amusing at first, but when the reality of the moment hits home, it becomes somber quite quickly.  It’s a reminder of how different he is from the rest of them, and how much of a shock he faces as he begins to integrate with a world he’s only looked down on from among the clouds.