Iriya the Berserker (10 page)

The source of the voice stood on the right side of the carriage. Wearing a black cape and a hat that resembled a beret, he held in his hand a walking stick topped by a gold tiger with blazing rubies set in its eyes.

The mounted figure shook his head.

“Oh, you failed, then? In that case, you did well to make off with the girl.”

“At the cost of Gathlin’s life,” Rin’s voice replied.

The caped figure shook. On realizing that he was laughing, Rin shifted in the saddle and asked, “Something funny?”

A thread of insanity linked the two shadowy figures.

He was cut off by a different voice.

“What do you plan on doing with me?” Iriya inquired. All her weapons had been taken away, leaving her completely unarmed.

After a brief silence, the Noble replied in a surprised manner, “Do you not know? Then I suppose Mitterhaus died for nothing.”

“I’m avenging my parents and searching for my brothers and sisters who were taken. You don’t need to take me alive, do you, Viscount Albidozen?”

The golden crest that adorned the front of the carriage wasreflected in Iriya’s eyes.

“How right you are. Had we not left you alive that night, we wouldn’t need to go to all this trouble now. That damnable Langlan had to display all the compassion of a human. He alone thought to play the saint, but we would not abide that. At our insistence, it was Langlan himself who drank your blood.”

“Drank?”

Two voices said the same word reflexively. One was Iriya’s, the other—a hoarse one—was so low that even Viscount Albidozen’s ears didn’t catch it.

“Yes. Did you not know? Careless as it may seem, we left you there in the knowledge that, having been bitten by a Noble, you would likely be disposed of by your fellow human scum. To be honest, even now I am astonished. It appears not a mark was left upon you. On hearing rumors of this, we decided to capture you!”

“That’s a lie . . . You’re lying!” Putting her left hand to her neck, Iriya murmured absent-mindedly, “No one drank my blood. I wasn’t bitten by any Noble. See for yourself—there isn’t a mark on me!”

Exposing her pale throat, Iriya thrust it forward. There was a mysterious desperation on her face.

“We know your fate far better than you yourself,” Viscount Albidozen laughed. But despite his laughter, doubt was unfurling its black wings in his voice. “Because that is the fate we bestowed on you. You, however, did not accept it. Why? That is what we would learn. Come.”

The viscount beckoned to her.

As if strung with invisible wires, Iriya climbed down from the saddle. Then she paused, closing her eyes and shaking her head.

“Come.”

Once more he beckoned, and Iriya’s resistance broke. This time she approached the viscount with smooth steps, pressing right up against his chest. A cry of surprise rang out. Iriya backed away. Within his cape, a dagger was buried to the hilt in the viscount’s chest. The cry had come from Iriya. The resistance the dagger had met had told her this wasn’t the body of a Noble.

The viscount smiled without a sound. “I considered myself well versed in the ways of humans, but your stupidity truly leaves me at a loss for words. I have seen through your act, your ploy. D, though that is a remarkable disguise, it is all for naught. No matter how you might cover yourself with makeup, you shall fool no one—as you are too beautiful.”

“D!”

Iriya extended her left hand. The instant she caught the sword tossed by the man who wore Rin’s face, her blade whizzed from its sheath in a silver flash, sank into the viscount at the nape of his neck, and exited through his right side.

“Though you display remarkable skill in putting a spell on yourself to resist my control, for the past three millennia it has been my general policy not to appear in public. Particularly when dealing with humans; merely breathing the same air as them makes me feel dirty. Child, you said your goal is to have vengeance and to search for your siblings, did you not? I did, in point of fact, take in one of your brothers. And out of admiration for your skill and bravery in piercing the heart of the great Albidozen, proxy or not, I give you fair warning: It would be best that you not meet. For your elder brother, and for you.”

“Where is he? Where’s my brother Yan?”

“You have been warned. If you still desire to see him, remain here. He shall be along presently.”

As the viscount said that, the upper half of his body slid off along the diagonal cut and dropped to the ground. The lower half, with its firmly planted feet, soon buckled at the knees and fell. Iriya bent over and touched it.

“It’s a doll made of organic cells!” she exclaimed. “I’ve heard busy Nobles used them as stand-ins at party or government meetings.”

Iriya’s blade flashed out in an arc again, and then the gorgeous carriage collapsed, too.

“Both copies—cheap, but effective,” said the hoarse voice in aleisurely tone.

Its words were overlaid by a voice of iron.

“Mount up. We’re going,” D told the girl. “We’re the ones Those Who Wait are waiting for. Hurry up.”

Iriya bounded into the saddle, and the two steeds started to gallop off. Behind them, a low, doleful chorus arose.

“
Come back!
”

The horses halted. No, their legs actually continued to pound the ground. They definitely seemed to be moving forward. They must have been. And yet, in opposition to the most basic laws of physics, the two steeds didn’t advance in the slightest. Why, not only had they stopped advancing, but they were actually moving backward!

D had already noticed the figures behind them standing at front doors and windows, beckoning to them.

“What the hell?” Iriya cried, desperately working the reins and kicking her steed’s flanks as she ground her teeth together.

Five thousand years ago, all the men in the village had vanished, never to return. The remaining women could do nothing but wait, and before long stories of the travelers who passed through Vinmel but didn’t come back began to reach city offices and sheriff’s departments. Though Vinmel was no more than the ruins of a village by that point, the investigators who went there were left breathless by the scene that greeted them: much to their surprise, life went on as normal in the rotting, collapsing homes. The men from that party found themselves waking up with, breaking bread with, and even chatting with wives, daughters, and mothers who’d been reduced to bleached bones or mummified remains. Of course, these men weren’t their real husbands or fathers, and their days spent with the dead left them as emaciated as corpses, and it’s said that only a combination of physical and magical treatment finally got them to speak the truth.

For more than a century after that the village of Vinmel had been behind barricades, off limits permanently. Nevertheless, travelers continued to disappear in its vicinity. Families who’d lost their men waited for them still.

“
Come back to us!
”

The cyborg horses galloped on, yet they were clearly moving backward.

“We’re in trouble here,” the hoarse voice insisted. “We’re up against a whole village. I don’t know what the focal point is!”

“Let’s try burning down the houses!”

Iriya’s right hand dipped into her saddlebags. Pulling out a cylinder roughly the same size as a conventional clip of bullets, she grabbed the ring on one end of it and yanked it off. Slowly counting to three, she twisted around on the horse and let the cylinder fly.

She had considerable strength. A house more than sixty feet behind them erupted in spiteful, oily flames. Iriya’s aim was right on the money. Without pausing, she set four buildings gloriously ablaze.

The scenery began flowing past them normally again.

“We did it—we’re getting out!”

But Iriya’s hopes weren’t sustained for more than ten yards.

“We’re moving backward again! How come?”

“It’s the other houses,” said the hoarse voice. “Seems like the whole village must want us to stay.”

“I don’t have enough incendiaries for that!”

As Iriya cried out, her eyes caught a black form sailing into the air.

“D?”

When the figure in the black coat landed, he slammed into the houses behind them like a demonic gale. As the wind passed the figures standing by the doorways, they lost their heads or were split lengthwise, vanishing.

“That’s some incredible swordplay!” Iriya exclaimed, hot blood racing through every inch of her body. “I think I’ll—”

Iriya leaned forward, about to dismount—and then she noticed something. She was already in front of a house. Less than three feet away, what looked to be a middle-aged housewife was holding the hands of two small boys, and they were all staring at her. The instant Iriya saw their pale, wasted faces, her heart was filled with an indescribable feeling of relief.

Oh, that’s right. She’d returned home. After a long, long journey. She should never leave again. They would all—

“We’ll all live together,” Iriya said, and the other three hugged her.

“You came back, didn’t you?” the woman said, rubbing her cheek against Iriya’s. It felt like ice.

The children joined hands around her waist. The woman clung to her neck.

“But—” the three people began in unison, staring at Iriya. Their eyes were bloodshot, their lips dried and cracked. “You’re not Daddy!”

Their bizarre cries were enough to make Iriya want to cover her ears, but the sadness in them woke the Huntress from her daze. No doubt the wives and children had cried that way the day they’d lost their husbands, their fathers. Every bone in her body creaked. The trio’s six arms—and even some of their legs—began to squeeze Iriya in an attempt to shatter her bones.

“Fake!”

“Impostor!”

“Get out of here!”

The curses that shook her eardrums were even more pathetic. Iriya didn’t feel hatred. Without warning, her mind started to slip away.

Suddenly, the pressure faded. As she drew oxygen into her lungs, she leapt for the opposite side of the street.

The family had turned their backs to Iriya. She could make out a diminutive figure standing just beyond them.

“Meeker?”

Iriya’s startled exclamation was rivaled by cries of delight.

“You’ve come back, my dear!”

“Daddy . . .”

“Daddy . . .”

That was how he appeared to them.

“Miss Iriya, smash the village cornerstone. It’s in the middle of the square! I tried doing it myself, but I’m not strong enough.”

Iriya didn’t need to hear another word. That would be the only way to destroy the evil that infested the village. There was no choice but to get rid of everything, village and all.

The family tried to pounce on Meeker. The boy’s tiny form dashed about, skillfully evading their grip.

“Hurry, Miss Iriya—I’ll be okay!”

As he said that, Iriya kicked off the ground. “D, keep Meeker safe!” she shouted as she ran off.

Her eyes pierced the darkness. She reached the center of the square unmolested.

When a village was formed, a stone monument with the community’s name and the date of its founding was always erected at its center. It was the life of the village, so to speak—some might even call it the place’s soul. Neither Iriya nor D had thought of it, yet the boy had told her to strike at that stone.

“That’s one hell of a kid.”

Iriya raced toward the easily recognizable gravestone-like plinth. Perhaps it was on account of how focused her attention was that she didn’t notice the figure crouched by the village flagpoles a short distance off.

An incendiary charge
, she thought, but on reconsideration, her right hand took hold of her sword.

“Don’t!”

The threadbare tone of the woman’s voice stopped the Huntress’s arm.

Iriya turned around.

People filled the square. Hoary-headed crones, weary middle-aged matrons, young ladies, little toddling girls—all female. Women abandoned by their men, left behind to die while waiting for them.

“Please, stop,” a crone said, her body quavering. “If that breaks . . . we’ll . . .”

“We’ll lose even our waiting place,” implored a mother holding a baby.

“My papa won’t be able to come home!”

“Forget them already!” Iriya cried out to the wall of women. “Forget any man who wouldn’t come back—”

Her words broke off there.
Forget it. What’s lost is gone, and it’s never coming back.
Wasn’t that something Iriya herself refused to do?

“If it were you—could you forget?” asked a pale-faced woman of middle age. “Have you ever lost anything? Anything precious?”

“Yes, I have!” Iriya nodded vehemently. “My mother and father were slaughtered by Nobles. Their throats were torn open. My brothers and sisters were bitten, then carried off. Made into servants, I hear. I need to release them all! To drive a stake through their hearts with my own hands!”

“But didn’t you tell us to forget?” a little blond girl said, smiling. She clutched a battered doll. “You should forget them, too. And . . .”

“. . . become one of us,” said the woman cradling an infant. Hers was a gentle voice. “Wait with us—wait for your loved ones to come back.”

Sweet voices filled Iriya’s heart with warm peace, like a false sense of healing. Her sword dropped.

It’s easier this way
, Iriya heard a distant voice say. It bore a startling resemblance to her own.

The crowd suddenly contracted. Arms beyond numbering reached out to Iriya.

And then—far off, she heard someone call out, “Miss Iriya!” It was Meeker’s voice.

As the sense of relief started to swallow up Iriya’s mind, the boy’s voice formed a hot, focused mass.

I have things to do.

Turning her back to the approaching thicket of pale hands, Iriya moved forward and struck her blade against the stone monument before her.

In this era, there were swords that could cut through stone. There were also those that could slice steel. However, they chose their masters. Cutting through stone and slicing steel were skills for an expert. At present, even out on a Frontier choked with warriors and superhuman Hunters, there was no woman who was known to slash through stone.

Now, bringing her blade straight down on the marker, Iriya sliced halfway through it without meeting any real resistance, then brought her arm back again. Suddenly, she realized that everything had ended. Around her were none of Those Who Wait. The lights were out in each of the homes, all of which had become dilapidated ruins.

“Meeker!” the Huntress called out.

“Miss Iriya!” he immediately replied. He was close.

Just as she was about to walk toward his voice, three cyborg horses came into view far down the road. A figure in a black coat rode one, and Meeker was on another. The third was Iriya’s steed. They galloped up, and then Meeker jumped down and threw his arms around Iriya’s neck. The girl bore his weight through sheer joy.

“You’re not hurt, are you?”

“No problem. It was looking bad, but D saved me!”

“Oh, that’s right. He was here, too.”

The gorgeous Hunter stood quietly before the two of them.

“How’d you know to cut through that stone marker?”

The question made the boy turn and look at D.

“Go ahead and tell us. It was all your doing.” Though the Hunter’s voice was steely, it somehow seemed gentle.

The boy nodded. Through the darkness, Iriya saw his flush of pride.

“In my dad’s room, there were a bunch of really old books. One of ’em was called
Frontier Evils and Their Means of Destruction Based on Oral Tradition
. It was about all kinds of demons and monsters—how to get away from ’em, how to hide from ’em, and even a little bit about how to slay ’em.”

“Up till now, no one’s known how to get rid of Those Who Wait! That must’ve been a pretty old book.”

“It wasn’t really a book. More like a bunch of ratty old papers bound together. My dad made the cover himself.”

“Looks like someone was a smart cookie,” remarked the hoarse voice. “Your father found all these old scraps and notes and put them together into a single volume. Any ideas whose notes they were?”

“Yeah, I think . . .” Closing his eyes, Meeker’s face took on an adult’s grimace. “I’m pretty sure it was Montague—Father Montague Lord Jessun.”

“Oh,
him
,” the hoarse voice said, seeming satisfied.

“You know him?” Iriya inquired.

“He was an eccentric holy man who roamed all over the Frontier about a century ago collecting all kinds of old legends and stories. But before he could put them all together in a single volume, he had a heart attack and died. Since he was staying at an inn for merchants when he croaked, his valuable possessions were gone before his relatives or apprentices could get there, and I heard that, aside from a small portion, his notes and other writings had scattered to the four winds. So, the squirt’s father got his hands on ’em, eh?”

“You’ll come in handy. You just saved me—and D, too.”

“That’s right,” D said.

Iriya gave the boy, so happy and proud he was frozen in place, a look of exceeding tenderness.

“And so another legend falls—let’s go!” D said.

When they were just shy of the village gates, Iriya pressed her hand against her chest and halted her horse.

“Oh, no—I wonder if I could’ve dropped it? Go on ahead.”

“What is it?” Meeker inquired with concern.

Giving him a wry grin, she replied, “A present from my mom—a bitty little pendant. The chain must’ve snapped while I was fighting. It’s probably no use, but I’ll try to find it anyway. I’ll catch up with you soon.”

“We’ll wait fifteen minutes,” D said matter-of-factly.

“Roger that.”

Wheeling her steed around, the warrior woman galloped off into the depths of the darkness.

D and Meeker decided to wait by the entrance. The gates were rotting away.

After waiting fifteen minutes, D murmured in a tone so faint Meeker couldn’t hear, “She’s gone, isn’t she?”

“That Noble?” Even the hoarse voice sounded tense.

“Viscount Albidozen, most likely.”

“But how’d he manage it?”

“Ask him.”

“Hmm,” the hoarse voice groaned. “If he was in the village, he would’ve had to deal with Those Who Wait, too. You suppose he worked his spell from outside?”

“Listen closely,” D said.

“I don’t get it,” the hoarse voice replied several seconds later. “They’re already three miles away. So—” The hoarse voice buttoned its lip, but quickly continued, “Oh, here comes something else!”

D’s left hand shot out. There was a dull thud, and his fist grasped a single silver arrow.

“There’s a thread tied to the head of this arrow. Seems like you’ve got all kinds of handy acquaintances.”

Ignoring the taunting tone of the hoarse voice, D followed the thread so fine it would’ve been imperceptible to the naked eye, then turned to the boy.

“The highway’s to the west. Is there a mountain or a hill along the way?”

Furrowing his brow for a moment, Meeker replied, “Sure. About a mile and a quarter up ahead, there are four hills.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because I read maps of the Frontier.”

“You don’t mean to tell me you’ve got ’em memorized, do you?” the hoarse voice said.

“I do!”

“Little shit,” D’s left hand said, rising.

Using his right hand to pull it back down, D remarked, “It’s like Iriya said. You come in handy.”

“Don’t I, though?”

“Get on behind me. We’re in for a rough ride. Your tail end will be killing you.”

“Yes, sir!”

Meeker gladly transferred to the Hunter’s steed, and leaving the other two steeds there, D gave a kick to his horse’s flank—and with a toss of its mane, the cyborg horse broke into a gallop.

Though from the outside the carriage appeared to be of average size, the interior was strangely roomy. Iriya found herself resting on the floor of a room that looked to be about eighteen hundred square feet. Her arms and legs were immobilized. Though her body told her she was bound by some sort of fine thread, she couldn’t see it, no matter how she strained her eyes. Yet the pain of the thread biting into her and the deep welts it left on her skin told her it was no illusion. From the faint shaking, she determined that the carriage was still in motion.

Beyond a few sofas and tables, a wide staircase rose in an elegant spiral. Iriya no longer found it odd that a carriage that looked from the outside like it would have room for just four occupants had a second story. As she was thinking about how she was going to escape, a figure in a black cape came down the stairs.

“Send another dummy?” she asked. Iriya wasn’t the least bit cowed.

“I’m the genuine article.”

The caped figure came over. With the pale skin unique to the Nobility and red eyes that burned in the darkness, he had a slender frame that projected a particularly cruel image.

“The horses that draw this carriage are unusually swift. You should know we are already more than a dozen miles from the village. Not even the Hunter known as D could possibly catch up to us.”

“Sooner or later this shit heap of a wagon will have to stop. And when it does, you’ll have a fight on your hands. In fact, I don’t even need to wait for D. I’ll dispose of you myself. Okay, then. Cut me free.”

“Hmph. It would appear you are merely capable of making threats, human. And yet—”

Resting his hand against his slender chin, the viscount stared thoughtfully at Iriya. Huntress though she was, the look was unsettling enough to freeze her solid. The viscount quickly bent over and gazed at the nape of Iriya’s neck. Though she tried to resist, her body was still bound tight. Iriya was seized by the fear of those vile fangs piercing her pale throat.

Reaching for her trembling chin and examining her scrupulously, seemingly in spite of himself the viscount murmured, “Hmm. It’s as if we never bit you. Who could do such a thing . . .”

“It’s just your imagination,” Iriya spat venomously. “No one bit me. If you want to, go ahead and try biting me now.”

“Yes,” the viscount said with a nod, and Iriya thought,
Damn it!
“That would be the best way to resolve this question. And I must thank you for making the suggestion.”

He smirked, stark fangs gleaming behind his lips.

“Save your thanks for your son in hell.”

“Regrettably, I have neither a wife nor a son. Therefore, I was able to join my compatriots, night in and night out, for the delightful sport of feasting on human blood. As I did when we called on your home.”

“You mean to say . . . that was a
game
for you?” Iriya asked in a voice like a crone’s.

“What else would it be? Killing your parents and abducting your siblings was merely a caprice! There was no need to tear open their throats, and we hardly wanted for servants.”

“Give me back my father . . .” Iriya’s voice trembled. A torrent of almost insane rage surged through her supple form, trying to transform it into wrought iron. “Give me back my mother . . . and my brothers . . . Give me back my little sister . . .”

And what should the Noble do but nod?

“Very well. In Vinmel I told you as much. Now I shall reunite you. Yan!”

The viscount’s grin broadened. His right arm rose, his cape hiding the staircase from Iriya’s view. Peering into her eyes, which had become vacant the instant she heard Yan’s name, the Nobleman grinned viciously. His cape quickly came down again.

At the foot of the stairs stood a young man, short but sturdily built. He was dressed in rough old clothes and sported close-cropped hair—for a second, Iriya thought her brother must’ve just come home from a hunting trip. The kiss of the Nobility had prevented the years from changing him.

“For your benefit, I’ve had him don the same clothes he wore that evening. Here you are, brother and sister, reunited by chance after all these years. We have plenty of time. By all means, please get reacquainted.”

A heartbeat later, Iriya realized she’d been set free. As she leapt to her feet with lightning speed, she saw the caped figure vanish into the depths of the darkness.

“Big brothers and little sisters are a thing for the world of humans. I look forward to seeing what becomes of the bond between you now that one of you is a servant of the Nobility!”

“Iriya . . .”

The mere sound of his voice left Iriya feeling dizzy.

“Yan . . .”

You’ve gotta pull yourself together
, a tiny voice whispered to her, but its tone was also vacant and dazed.

“Iriya—you’re all grown up, aren’t you?”

Yan broke into a grin. It was the same warm and dependable smile she remembered from days of old.

Her older brother had carried a weapon as heavy as their father’s since the time he was ten and used it to bag game just as big, too. Taciturn by nature, he was warned by their mother that folks would take him for a mute, but with his evening drink he would give them a friendly grin. And every time he did, Iriya realized it was a treasure.

“What’ve you been doing all this time? Are Mom and Dad doing well?”

“No,” Iriya replied, shaking her head. “What are you talking about? The night the Nobles came, their throats were ripped open! They’re dead! You, Pol, Chulos, and Maggie all got bitten and were carried off. I was the only one they didn’t bite!”

“That . . . is a lie,” Yan said sadly.

“Why do you say that? It’s true! I don’t remember it happening. And look at my throat—there’s not a mark on it, is there?”

“I saw it, Iriya—I watched the great Count Langlan drink your blood. We’d all been bitten already. You were the last. And then they carried all of us off. If Count Langlan hadn’t told them to leave you there, you would’ve met the same fate we did.”

“No. You must be remembering it wrong, Yan.”

“You’re the one who’s wrong.”

Yan gazed patiently at his little sister.

“What’s with your eyes—why are they red? I’ll tell you what happened, okay? Just don’t look at me.”

“Iriya.”

“Afterward, I was rescued by a passing witch doctor. He took me on the road with him. With my whole family bitten by Nobles and taken away, I couldn’t very well stay in that village. After all, there was no saying you wouldn’t all come and attack the place. Then I learned how to use swords and other weapons, and I set out on a journey to find all of you. I wanted to rescue you—if you hadn’t been made servants of the Nobility yet. If I was too late, I would drive a wooden stake through your hearts before you could hurt anyone else.”

“Who taught you how to use those weapons?”

“Who? Different people!”

“Before you slew Baron Mitterhaus, you took care of Count Zegreib, Duke Schultz, and Baron Luzbon. And you had to deal with Pol, Maggie, and Shezk. Quite an accomplishment. I can imagine what Mom and Dad would call you—
sibling slayer
.”

“I didn’t have a choice,” Iriya protested.

The shock had been surprisingly faint. From the instant her blade slid into the heart of the first she’d dealt with—Maggie—all consciousness of their blood ties had been transformed into something else entirely. Iriya had since stained her hands with the blood of two more siblings.

“Being servants of the Nobility, you have to do whatever you’re told. And I had to stop that.”

“And now it’s my turn?” Yan’s smile broadened. His meaty hands grabbed hold of Iriya’s shoulders.

“I know how you feel about me,” her older brother said.

What’s he talking about?

Terror squirmed somewhere in Iriya’s heart.

“I knew perfectly well how you viewed me. But there was no way I could accept it. After all, we’re brother and sister.”

His rugged face drew closer. In the old days, he’d often smelled of sweat. Now, however, he carried the stench of blood.

“But things are different now. You don’t have to hide anything, Iriya. I like you, too.”