Iriya the Berserker (4 page)

When she halted her own horse, Iriya heard a scream. It was the cry of a man—or rather, a boy. Swiftly dismounting, she gave her horse a slap on the ass to drive it off, then followed D. Following the line of the dome for about thirty feet, she turned right and found him standing there. As Iriya blinked her eyes, another streak of lightning stitched together sky and ground, and the boy in front of D screamed again.

“Let’s get inside—quick!” Iriya urged D.

D crossed to the boy’s right and pressed his left hand to a red depression on the dome’s surface.

“Ah!” the boy exclaimed as he started to fall backward, but D wrapped his arms around him and immediately entered the dome through the door that’d suddenly appeared. Once Iriya had followed suit, D pressed the same hand to an identical depression on the inside, and the entrance closed. At the same time, all of them became tinged with blue from head to toe. The boy clung to D’s arm. He was scared to death.

He wore a jacket, shorts, and thick-soled walking shoes—the typical gear of someone from a family of moderate means on a journey. Likewise, the shoulder bag slung across his left shoulder was standard traveling equipment. While it didn’t seem conceivable he was on his own, he also didn’t seem to be lost. Neither D nor Iriya had seen any travelers who seemed to have misplaced a child. Had his parents gone too far before noticing his absence, or was it as yet unnoticed?

“Relax, kid,” the hoarse voice said. “It’s just a sterilizing light. The Nobility might be immortal, but when their human servants were with ’em, they couldn’t have ’em tracking in dangerous germs from outside. See, the Nobles did show some consideration for humans.”

After three seconds, the light faded and a door opened before them. The trio was greeted by a room so gorgeously appointed it would’ve made even the most jaded traveler cry out with delight. The shelters of the Nobility lacked none of their accustomed luxury.

As the boy stood dumbfounded in the white light, the girl coaxed him into taking a seat on the blue sofa, telling him, “I’ll have some tea ready in no time. In the meantime, I’m Iriya. What’s your name?”

“Meeker.”

It was probably thanks to Iriya that his voice sounded a little more composed, though his expression was still stiff and his cheeks trembled. Given that he looked to be only seven or eight years old, it was no surprise that an abode of the Nobility on a lightning-covered plain would inspire more terror than curiosity.

“You did great on your own. What a good boy you are! Did you get separated from your parents?”

He swung his head from side to side.

“What happened, then?”

“I was with Nadja,” he said suddenly, in a hazy tone. Tears welled in his eyes. “We came this far—then she ran off and left me.”

“Ran off?”

“She was supposed to take me to my uncle’s place in a town called McCrory, but she told me she was just taking the money and left me here. What am I supposed to do on my own?”

With this disclosure, his slight shoulders started to quake as if from a fit, and he hiccupped a few times. He only stopped talking when Iriya gently put her arms around his small form.

“It’s okay. You’re not all alone. No one in this world is. Everybody has somebody. It so happens McCrory is on our way, and I’ll see that you get there . . . D, could I take a shower?”

“Sure, but there’s no running water,” the hoarse voice replied. “Running water’s taboo for Nobles. As a result, the shower’s like what we got earlier. I hear if a human stands naked in it, it feels about the same as if they’d soaked in warm water. Though I doubt the Nobility would’ve gone to all that trouble.”

“It doesn’t matter either way—will you hop in with me?”

The boy nodded.

D got up, put his hand against a depression on a wall to the left, and once again a door opened—or rather, sprang into existence.

“Not surprisingly, no one but a Noble can make use of the amenities,” said the Hunter. “There’s no bathtub for humans. Food,however, is a different matter.”

“That’s great. As soon as I’ve had my shower, I’ll fix something up. And then we’ll have time to hear your tale at length.”

The boy nodded heartily at Iriya’s words.

The Nobility’s shelter was stocked with a sumptuous array of foods suitable for humans.

“Say what you will, but the Nobility didn’t cheap out on this, did they?”

On tasting the roast duck, which was on a par with the highest quality prepared by the very best of chefs, both Iriya and the boy were astounded.

“Making all this appear, dishes and all, with one flick of a switch—the Nobles really were incredible, weren’t they? These plates are made of gold!”

Once the meal was finished, Iriya began to ask the boy—Meeker—about his circumstances.

He had lived with his father in a fishing community called Coeverlan, but about six months earlier his father had died in a manufactured tornado, leaving the housekeeper, Nadja, to bring him to his uncle in McCrory. Once they’d come this far, however, Nadja had said, “I’ve had enough of this!” and nothing more, leaving the boy with only enough money to reach McCrory and taking off with the rest of it, according to him.

“She’s a backstabber. We always took care of her at home, but she left me high and dry here. I’ll get her for that. Once I’m bigger, I’ll find her and shove her around—just you wait and see.”

“Good thing he only wants to shove her around,” the hoarse voice chuckled.

With a dubious expression, Meeker looked around and asked, “Is there an old man in here with us?”

Iriya clapped her hands together as if she’d just thought of something, then took the boy’s face with both hands and turned it in D’s direction, saying, “Our friend over there is the culprit—he knows ventriloquism!”

After a moment of bewilderment, the boy gave a nod. The tension faded from his features. In his little head, a minor mystery had been solved.

As if to escape the gaze of intent curiosity trained upon him, D went to the wall and held out his left hand. The wall became a window.

The world was sealed in darkness. Eyes trained on its depths, the gorgeous and motionless young man looked as if he were pursuing some eternally elusive truth, like a statue that would muse until the end of time. Who could express how vain it was?

As Iriya watched him in silence, she heard a faint yawn beside her.

“Good night. Sleeping quarters for humans are at the end of the hall.”

Meeker got out of his chair and went over to the door. “Carp,” he said, raising one hand. Most likely that was a farewell phrase from his hometown.

Though Coeverlan was a fishing community, it wasn’t one of those seaside villages that always smelled of the tides. It was located in the lake region that spread across the northwest section of the Frontier. There they caught freshwater fish that rivaled those of the sea in their quantity, variety, strangeness, and danger. Meeker’s family probably also ventured out onto the lake in ships, selling the fish they caught in the Capital or in nearby cities and towns.

“Carp,” Iriya replied, and as soon as she’d spoken, the diminutive form disappeared through the doorway, and the door shut.

After a spell of silence, Iriya said, “Would you mind if I talked about myself?”

“Where the hell is this going?” the hoarse voice said, its remark directed at D.

“Suit yourself. It doesn’t matter either way to me.”

D’s reply was directed at Iriya.

“It’s kind of strange. I can’t believe it . . . This is the first time I’ve felt like doing this. Maybe it’s because you’re the one they call D?”

Outside the window, the world was bleached white. The lightning burned itself into Iriya’s eyes.

“You had a kid brother, didn’t you?” the hoarse voice inquired. Although it was swiftly silenced with a cry, Iriya’s far-off gaze never left D as she continued to spin her tale.

Her life, she said, could be divided into everything before age nine and everything after. Into heaven and hell. Her father, the huntsman; her mother, the housekeeper; her older brothers, Yan and Shezk; her older sister, Gia; her younger brothers, Pol and Chulos; and her younger sister, Maggie—nine of them all told had lived in the village of Paccilin in a valley in the eastern Frontier, where they passed their days together in peaceful poverty. Shadows were stronger than light in the valley, and the wind that blustered across the cold surface of the river glittered with white. There, in a house on the outskirts of the village, her mother awaited her father’s return, baking heavenly sweetened bread from her rations of flour and sugar. Iriya’s three brothers were charged with butchering the game her father took. The oldest boy kept aside the most nutritious parts for their parents, but he always saw to it that the littlest ones got the tastiest cuts of meat.

There was one thing the whole family looked forward to on summer evenings: Gia would sing traditional Frontier songs to the accompaniment of Shezk’s guitar. Villagers who’d heard about this would come too, and before long they were asked to give a performance in the village square, after which a man in the audience suggested they perform in the Capital. He was a researcher from the Capital collecting information on Frontier songs. Gia was open to the idea, but Shezk wished to remain at home. Gia left home that fall, at the age of fifteen. It was about two weeks later that they received word that her party had been attacked by bandits on the way to the Capital. The fiery attack had reduced the carriage to ashes. Iriya believed it was that event that gave rise to her parents’ silence.

And then one day in late autumn, when all the gorgeously colored trees stood against the shadows and the night was filled with the golden scents of the aging kegs of plum and apple spirits in the basement,
they
had come.

“They were dressed in pitch black . . . They knocked at our door. . . I thought,
Who could it be this late at night?
. . .”

Iriya’s voice began to crack, and she stopped.

“And then . . .”

There was a short pause.

“And then . . .”

D remained looking out the window.

“And then . . .”

Lightning flashed once more beyond the window. It was followed by the next sound from Iriya—a scream. There was something in it that was enough to make even D turn around. His right hand went for his longsword.

That awful scream seemed to trail on forever. Both her hands were over her mouth, and she looked out through bloodshot eyes full of madness. Slowly her hands came away again. Perhaps some sort of weird aura radiated from her form, because D’s right hand still gripped his sword’s hilt.

“No . . .” Iriya’s voice was like that of a withered crone.

She backed away. Her movements suggested there was something right in front of her she needed to escape.

“The door was shut . . . How did you get in here? Who are you?
What
are you?”

“She’s slipped back into the past!” the hoarse voice said from the vicinity of D’s left hand. “She’s reliving that night. Stay back. The Nobles’ structure is responding to the girl’s emotions. Do yousee it?”

D nodded. He’d discerned the overlapping figures in black that stood less than a foot in front of him.

“Well, what do you know! I recognize some of ’em,” said the hoarse voice. “The second from the right—that’s a Noble by the name of Langlan. He had a courteous nature, and his reputation with those in his domain wasn’t bad, but that was the word seven or eight millennia ago. Wouldn’t have expected to see him throwing in with this lot. The others are Viscount Albidozen, Count Zegreib, and two I don’t know.”

The man at the forefront closed his hand tight around Iriya’s throat. The illusion threatened to become reality.

“Keep away from me!” Iriya cried, her right hand darting to her hip before a stark flash mowed through the torso of a figure in black.

Reality threatened the illusion, as well. The attacker faded away.

At that same instant, Iriya turned toward D. There was definite madness in her bloodless face, and her burning eyes fired boundless animosity at the young man called D.

“There it is,” the hoarse voice said with apparent satisfaction. “There’s the face of a Hunter. Are you gonna give her a fight? If not, there’ll be no stopping her!”

Though the Huntress stepped forward, D didn’t go anywhere.

“Aren’t you gonna move?” the hoarse voice inquired.

“You, too.” Iriya raised her sword by the side of her head. “Die!”

Her stance was flawless. Energy radiated up from the earth through the soles of her shoes, traveling straight up her spine from her waist, racing to her shoulders, elbows, and wrists. The blade of her sword channeled it.

Beyond her wide arc, a smaller silvery one was sharply executed. Iriya’s blade was effortlessly deflected.

“Look at me,” said the hoarse voice.

Iriya’s eyes turned toward the Hunter’s left hand.

“No! The face—
his
face.”

Ripples of rapture spread through Iriya’s countenance.

Taking a step forward, D planted his left hand on the nape of her neck. Swiftly catching her as she collapsed, he tossed her onto the sofa.

“Couldn’t you be a little gentler with her? She only drew on you because she was out of her mind!”

“Anyone else she would’ve killed,” D said.

“That’s—well, that’s true, actually. Didn’t seem like a woman’s blow in the least. I can say with pretty much total confidence there’s no way she could’ve got that way through any amount of training. That said, it doesn’t look like the girl’s undergone any kind of upgrades for Hunting, either. That leaves what—hypnosis? If you were only average to start, that couldn’t possibly give you superhuman skill!”

“If you’re so concerned about it, try asking her.”

Holding his left hand out in front of him, D once again went for his scabbard with the right.

“W-wait a second!” The palm of his left hand turned to D, saliva flying from the flustered mouth that took indistinct shape in it.

The storm broke around dawn. As the morning sun rose in the east, the white steam above the drenched plains gave the air a comfortable humidity.