Vampire Hunter D: Dark Nocturne (2 page)

The man's laughter sounded like something out of a nightmare to Ry.

Before it ended, the young man with blond hair said, “You asked a strange question just now, didn't you?” His voice and his manner of speaking were those of someone Ry's age. And yet, his tone also seemed to be invested with something horribly cold and mature. “The very first thing you asked wasn't our names or what we did,” he continued, “but rather our destination. Why is that?”

“No reason,” Ry said, taking his eyes off the boy's gorgeous countenance. If he were to gaze at it for too long, it seemed like his mind would melt into a milky haze and he'd completely lose himself. “I was just curious,” he added.

“About what? Our destination? Or about that song?” the young man said, slowly getting to his feet.

Apparently there must've been some special meaning attached to that action, because his two far rougher-looking companions backed away with paled countenances.

“That's a song you can't forget once you've heard it. Those under its spell always want to go find the singer. I heard it when I was in my mother's womb, or so I've been told. When and where did you hear it?”

Ry was just about to reply that he didn't know anything about any song, but then he suddenly became aware that an intense urge to defy the handsome young man before him had been building in his gut.

“I heard it with my own ears when I was two,” said Ry. “In the village of Anise.”

There was silence. A silence far more terrifying than any other change could've been.

“Is that right? I guess that figures,” said the blond man. “As much as I like the song, I don't intend to go looking for the singer to hear it again. It'd probably be best if we parted company with you here.”

Ry finally noticed that the young man still had his eyes shut.

“I was just thinking the same thing myself. See you around.”

And with that casual expression, Ry turned his back on them. From the base of his neck to his waist was horrendously cold. The chill concentrated in the left side of his chest. It hurt. His feet moved smoothly, but the pain grew worse and worse. At the last second he thought,
Here it comes . . .

That's when it happened. Off to his right, he heard a horse whinny. The pain and the chill vanished abruptly. Ry didn't turn around. He wanted to leave as quickly as possible.

The sound of the rain had died out.

When he finally reached someplace that seemed safe, Ry had a strong suspicion he'd been saved by the rider he saw earlier.

__

III

__

Located in an eastern Frontier sector, the village of Anise was bordered on all sides by rugged mountain ranges and black forests. The amount of land cultivated was barely enough to provide for the thousand villagers who lived there, but the inhabitants supplemented their income by using the waters of the Garnow River that ran along the western edge of the village to transport lumber—an activity that helped make them one of the wealthier communities in the area.

The weather controllers had almost no effect on this region, so the four seasons came and went like a goddess robed in four distinct, if simplistic, ensembles. Summer was a deep green veil that covered everything beneath the blue sky. Fall was a coat of apples and plums that swayed with sorrow-laden breezes. Winter was a white gown that hid even the school's highest spire. And now it was spring. The season when remnants of snow that feared the warmth flowed away in the clear streams, grass and flowers put forth buds, and children's feet could be heard slapping their way up and down the muddy streets.

Many people came to the village: merchants and fortune-tellers, traveling artisans and gamblers, con men and bodyguards, drifters and criminals . . . . And yet, up until last spring it had always been peaceful. But this year, it didn't look like that was going to be the case. There'd been so many travelers that day. Some were just passing through, while others had various aims and would stay a while. The peaceful village accepted them all without complaint, even though there were some the community would've done well to reject.

There were two places to stay in the village. One was a lodging house for merchants where everyone slept packed into the same room like sardines; the other was a hotel with private rooms. Ry chose the hotel. Having camped out all the way to Anise, he still had money to spare, and he also suspected the trio might check into the merchant inn. He somewhat regretted ever having mentioned the village of Anise to them.

While the accommodations were hardly what anyone would call spectacular, the room was at least clean. It was also unpretentiously strung with high-voltage lines and various charms to ward off evil spirits and smaller monstrosities. Just as he was unpacking his baggage and considering what he should do next, a steady knock rang out and the door to his room was opened before he could even reply.

“Oh, I'm terribly sorry,” said the girl.

The room seemed to brighten immediately thanks to her fearless tone and bearing. She must've been related to the sulky old man who'd showed Ry to this room, as her carefree demeanor didn't fit that of a mere employee.

“I'm Amne. I work here at the hotel. I just came by to drop off something you forgot. Well, actually it's because I heard there was someone about my age staying here and I wanted to have a peek at you. Mind if I come in?”

Once again, she didn't bother to wait for an answer but rather strutted right in. Over her blue blouse she wore a dowdy employee jumpsuit, but like a doe, she also had an almost impudent vigor that was violently at odds with her attire.

“And just what did I forget?” Ry asked, a bit perplexed.

It wasn't as if he hadn't had any experience with girls back in his home village. To the contrary, his lithe build and sensitive nature made him quite popular compared to all the rough and tough country boys there. Still, none of the girls he'd known had been quite so forward.

“These. Put them in if you're going to be outside at night.”

A pale hand opened before the boy's chest. Taking the two little rubber items from her, Ry stared down at them.

“Ear plugs?” he said.

“That's right. So don't go sticking 'em up your nose by mistake. Why? Something wrong?”

“No, it's nothing. Why do I need these things?”

“I don't rightly know,” the girl replied. “It's just a custom. We all use them when we're out walking at night, too.”

“Hmm.”

As he intently scrutinized the little rubber plugs, Ry wondered if he should ask Amne about the song. In a sense, it was taboo for a common traveler to ask about the history or traditions of the villages he visited. Quite naturally, in cases where the area had been under the direct control of the Nobility and their servants and the villagers had been terrorized day and night, they were loath to revisit their fearful past to the point of fanaticism.

Amne chuckled knowingly.

“What?”

“Actually, the story behind the ear plugs is no big secret or anything,” she told him. “It all goes back to the days of the Nobility. Long, long ago, there was a great big mansion on the western mountainside.”

Ry was at a loss for words.

“While they say that hundreds of Nobles lived in the mansion, one of them was a singer skilled enough to be called to the Capital to perform at the great theaters there. The story goes that on hearing the singer's voice, not only the birds and the beasts but even the very wind and the rain would be drawn to the mansion. And I suppose you can guess what happened to the people when they went up there, can't you?”

Ry imagined the mellifluous voice drifting out in the moonlight night after night and the gazes of the young people as they intently climbed the steep mountain road toward the mansion. For all their fear, their eyes must've been ablaze with delight. And while that delight burned in them, surely there was also some sadness.

Though she sounded far off in the distance, he heard Amne say, “The people all came back pale-faced, with teeth marks on their necks. And then, at night, they'd get up out of their beds and sink their fangs into the throats of their wives and children—wait, no, that's all just one big lie.”

“A lie?”

“That's right. Just a tale cooked up to scare the villagers and travelers. None of them did anything. Recent research has shown as much.”

“Research?” Ry said, completely thrown off balance. “They didn't do anything? We're talking about victims of the Nobility, aren't we?!”

“No, I suppose they did do a little. After all, the Nobility had got to them. But apparently it was nothing like the lie I just told you. Research shows all they did was sing.”

Here was another mention of singing.

“A song . . .”

“Yes,” said Amne. “When night came, they'd slip out of the place where they were held and begin to prowl the village streets with their hands stuck in their pockets. Like this, kinda slouched forward, while they sang a certain song.”

“What kind of song was it?”

“I don't know. All of this happened fairly far back—more than two hundred years ago. And the Nobility suddenly vanished about that time. But even now, rumors still remain that they're actually hiding out somewhere and are going to swoop back down on us.”

“You mean to tell me no one wrote the song down?” Ry asked.

“Who'd ever do such a thing? You think we'd bother committing to paper every rotten thing the Nobility ever did to us? But now that you mention it, I heard that when rumors were going around a while back that
they
had come back, a traveling composer went into the mansion and jotted down the tune. I bet it's another bullshit story.”

Given that she was working in the service industry, the girl's use of profanity with a customer probably crossed the line. But Ry didn't seem to notice.

“That talk about them coming back—how long ago was that?”

“Let me see . . . It'd have to be nearly twenty years, I suppose.”

In addition to the wandering composer, his father must've heard the song as well.

“Is there anyone who can recite the song?” asked the young man.

“Not a soul. A long time ago, you used to be able to hear it anywhere you went in these parts, because all the men and women who heard it went up to the mansion. And after they came back, the villagers who hadn't been affected had no choice but to listen to them sing. However, they say it simply can't be duplicated. The tune itself is simple yet beautiful, but you can't even hum the first couple of bars. The only people who can sing it are the ones who've heard it themselves at the mansion. And I suppose by the same token no one could jot it down, either.”

Perhaps as a result of not inhaling for so long, Amne stopped there and took a few breaths.

“Are you sure it's okay telling me that?” Ry said, smiling wryly all the while.

“Sure it is! When I'm at school, no one there listens to the results of my research.”

“
Your
research? You mean to tell me that was the theory
you
came up with?”

“That's right! Why, I'm even in the ‘historical research society' at school. Seems like you're kind of interested, too. So, what are you here for anyway?”

“I came to hear a song, actually.”

“You're pulling my leg!” the girl said, but she looked rather pleased. She must've figured he'd enjoyed her theory. “Well, not that it matters. You know,” Amne continued, “it's past noon, so you should probably head out and get yourself some lunch. After that, I'll show you around the village.”

“That'd be a big help, but you really don't have to. You've got a lot to do here at the hotel, don't you?”

“Not a problem,” the girl replied. “At the moment, you're the only guest we've got, and the saloon downstairs doesn't get crowded until after sundown. So, where would you like to go?”

In his heart, Ry now faced a dilemma. He couldn't very well tell her he'd come to hear the Noble's song or to meet the singer. But now that he knew a Noble was involved, his interest hadn't waned in the least. To the contrary, the knowledge had only fanned the flames of his tenacity all the more.

“Well, that's a good question—that mansion's probably pretty far off, right?” he said with a calculated disinterest.

The answer came instantaneously.

“Hey, it's no problem. It's thirty minutes by wagon. After you have lunch, we'll still have time for a nice leisurely round-trip. We've even got a wagon we're not using right now. Now, run along to the diner. You go out and take a right on the street—”

—and going straight for about two minutes, he found the sign for the diner. Right above it the words “liquor” and “dry goods” were written in large letters. In small towns and villages, it was typical to combine the general store, diner, and saloon into a single establishment. Although Ry thought
they
might be in there, he wound up being the only customer.

Finishing his meal of stew and bread, Ry followed the street west. The fence at the edge of the village was where he was supposed to meet Amne.

Snow still remained in a few spots along the road. Stepping into an alley he'd been told was a shortcut, Ry stopped in his tracks.

Countless gold sparkles drifted in the air–seeds of the golden snow flowers dancing on a gentle breeze. They weren't an uncommon sight in the eastern Frontier sectors. Exceptionally heat and cold-resistant, the seeds could also withstand poor soil conditions and severe weather until one bright, sunny day in spring when they'd bloom into small golden flowers that delighted people's eyes.

Bathed from head to toe in their golden light and seeming to almost suck up the glow, a figure in black suddenly stood there on muddy earth not yet dry from the previous night's rain. He wore a wide-brimmed traveler's hat and a long coat, and had an elegant longsword across his back—that was all the young man could see of him from behind. A short distance from him, a cyborg horse was toppled by the side of the road.