The Stuff of Dreams

by Hideyuki Kikuchi

  As he said that, Harold thrust his chest forward. It was literally as if he’d shed his skin. A semi-translucent Harold broke free of his body, floating a few feet in front of the spot where his physical body stood. And then, almost simultaneously, this new form took the color and texture of his original body. Then, his original body suddenly lost its color and substance, becoming like the reflection of a statue in a pool before disappearing without a sound.

  Pulling these false images from his actual body, he could produce copies of himself. Perhaps even D hadn’t imagined his opponent could form doppelgangers like this. Harold B. used these false images to confuse his foes while his real body crept around behind them and brought down a lethal blow with his weapon.

  His younger brother, on the other hand, had vastly accelerated cellular activity. As a result of this, his limbs could continue to function even after they were severed from his body, and he could fuse with other living creatures to make them do his bidding. Who could hope to be a match for these brothers?

  “End of the road, Hunter,” the older brother said. Perhaps knowing something of D’s nature, Harold didn’t pull out the blade he’d run through the Hunter, but rather drew another one and lashed out with that. A heartbeat later, the arm wielding the new blade fell to the floor, severed at the shoulder. Realizing D had accomplished this with his sword without turning, and with a blade still stuck through his heart, Harold sputtered, “You sonuvabitch . . . You’re no plain old dhampir . . . are you?!” With one hand clamped down on his shoulder while fresh blood gushed from the wound, Harold shook all over with pain and rage.

  The only reason he managed to avoid the full damage of the flash of silver that zipped through the air was because D was fighting with a knife still stuck through his heart. It was a frightening display of stamina, the way the Hunter stood with only the slightest wobbliness before quickly shifting to the most exquisite combat stance. Harold and his indestructible brother Duncan, who still lay on the floor, backed away with a tinge of amazement in their eyes.

  With his right hand leveling his blade at the two brothers, D reached around to his back with his left. Grabbing the knife by the handle, he jerked it free. And yet, the blade protruding from his chest seemed to go in precisely the opposite direction, pushing out further! For a heartbeat, D’s expression seemed tinged with pain.

  Three objects flew toward him. The black panther’s head, its forequarters, and the hindquarters from which they’d been sliced. While the two halves of the torso each had a pair of legs, how the head had launched itself into the air was a mystery. Baring fangs that grew long and curved like those of a sabertooth tiger, the head made a huge turn in midair, bringing its jaws down toward the top of D’s head.

  A flash of silver light ripped through the beast from its fang-filled upper jaw to the base of its snout, and D sailed through the air without a sound. His coat fluttered out to deflect both halves of the torso.

  A split second before the Hunter landed, the world around him spun a hundred and eighty degrees. The floor was above him, the ceiling below—and yet, D was still on his way back toward the floor. An odd sensation struck D, completely upsetting his sense of equilibrium. Although gravity was pulling him down toward the ground, his senses were telling him exactly the opposite.

  “Kill him!” Harold shouted from horseback.

  The fangs and claws closed down on D from above—although to the Hunter, it felt like they were coming from below. The teeth jutted from the severed upper jaw. There really weren’t words to convey how bizarre it actually looked.

  In an incredible display of skill, D parried the attacks—and fell to his knees. Fresh blood dripped from his chest, staining the floor.

  “Your death in this world will mean death in reality,” Dr. Allen said from somewhere unseen.

  And it was at that very moment that D’s form warped.

  “No!” Dr. Allen screamed, but he wasn’t alone. Harold B. cried the very same thing. The knife that’d left his hand had gone through D’s body and stuck in the wall.

  “He vanished . . .” Harold muttered in disbelief. A flash of silver had gone right past the end of his nose, knocking a crystal shard from the machine next to the bed.

  “Damnation!” Dr. Allen shouted.

  Harold’s vicious gaze shifted to the bed with intense speed. Even after seeing the sorrowful visage of the beauty lying there, the beastly light didn’t fade from his eyes. “What happened?” he asked. “Was it because that machine of yours started acting up?”

  “No,” the director said, shaking his head. “It’s not the machine’s fault. Control of this world is shifting, you see. But it’s essentially the same as if the device had been destroyed.”

  “What are you gonna do?” Sounding very much like a curse, Duncan’s question drifted up from the floor. He looked over the head of his panther, which had its snout sliced off, with eyes as red as blood and glaring at the hospital director. “If you just let him be, he’s gonna see Sybille. And if that happens . . .”

  “We’re finished,” Old Mrs. Sheldon said from the doorway. “If I were you, I’d be trying to come up with another way to stop that real fast. But it don’t matter all that much to me.”

  The old woman sounded easygoing, apathetic even, but her words made Dr. Allen knit his brow. “There’s still a way,” he said. “Just you wait. Dream or not, a whole world is no easy thing to destroy.”

  .

  II

  .

  D was back in the vacant lot—the same lot as always. The grass glistened in the moonlight and swayed in the breeze, just as it had when he left.

  “Just so you know, that wasn’t my doing,” said the voice that spilled from D’s left hand.

  Ignoring the remark, D said, “Shall we take a little nap?” He must’ve known it was Sybille that’d transported him here from the hospital. The machine keeping her dreams in check was destroyed by Harold’s dagger, which D threw just before he vanished. A vermilion stain spread across his chest.

  “I suppose we should,” his left hand said. “Two forces are competing for this world. Both are pretty tough. As a result, the opposition’s just gonna keep escalating. But enough about that—I guess we should find you a bed, eh? If you’ve gotta go to sleep, at least after what just happened you’re nice and tired for it.”

  D turned around. His cyborg horse was tethered to a tree not far away—his mount had been transported, too. “Watch the place while I’m gone,” he said. And with that, he walked over to the nearby grove.

  “Very interesting,” his left hand said. “Plan on sleeping here, do you? You’ve got nerve, I’ll give you that. They’ll find you here in a second.” The voice sounded almost excited about the proposition, as if the idea of D getting killed was so entertaining he could barely contain himself. For D, it would be the same no matter where he slept. The whole world was his enemy. But knowing this, he still chose to go back to sleep in the vacant lot, the very first place his foes would think of looking for him—indeed, he was no ordinary young man.

  As he lay down, a slight sigh spilled from his thin lips. Most likely it was just his chest wound having its say. Of course, no one else would ever know for sure. D’s sorrow, his joy, and his pain belonged to him alone.

  Taking the longsword off his back and setting it down in the bushes to his left, D shut his eyes. Immediately, he was enveloped in blue light. He was in the hall of the mansion and a sad but sweet melody twined around him, and then flowed away. Why had Sybille chosen music so light but so sad?

  A number of shadowy forms flowed in around D. The next thing he knew, the figures in the hall had begun to sway. The graceful steps of dreamers. Voices humming with laughter. Weaving his way through men and women who were like phantoms, D came to the center of the hall. All movement stopped. The dancers remained with hands together, chatting guests still held champagne glasses, all of them frozen for eternity in those poses. All except one—Sybille.

  Saying nothing, D
stared at the pale girl who stood there quietly. “It’s about time you finally told me what it is you need,” he said. “What do you want from me?”

  “Please, kill me.”

  What had she said?

  Could the words of this pale young lady, the one with these beautiful dreams, have said this? Please, kill me.

  D’s face was reflected in the black of Sybille’s pupils. He was cold and beautiful . . . and completely removed from the deeper emotions.

  “Why don’t you just go on dancing like this?” the Hunter asked. “This night will never end. This is what you wanted. He knew that when he bit you.”

  D turned his eyes to one of the nearby dancers. The man’s face was the color of darkness, but the fangs in his mouth were conspicuous. And his partner was an ordinary woman. It was a dance party for humans and Nobility—hand in hand in a world swimming with kindness and blue light. But what could all this mean if the Noble responsible for this had known about it, too? Perhaps the one who bit Sybille and made this wish of hers come true had wanted the very same thing. In the end, however, it had come down to this—

  “Please, kill me,” Sybille repeated. Her words were sincere—no anger, no pain, no weariness in them. That was what she desired from the very bottom of her heart.

  “If you die,” he said, “it will all fade away. As will this world. And everyone you’ve made. And everything they’ve dreamed.” The Hunter’s words were heavy with conviction. Could the young lady truly wish for death if it meant throwing everything away?

  “Kill me—” she said.

  D turned around to leave.

  The hem of her white gown flapping wildly, Sybille dashed out in front of him. “Please, don’t go. Don’t leave until you’ve killed me. That’s the whole reason I brought you here.”

  Not even bothering to shake free of her hands, D left the hall.

  “Kill me,” Sybille pleaded, tears glistening in her eyes.

  D stopped on the veranda. On the brick path that led to the iron gate there stood a figure in black, an arrow already notched in his bow. “So, if I won’t kill her, then they’ll kill me?” D muttered. Was that how badly she wanted to die even though she had the perfect dream?

  “I’m begging you.”

  Giving the girl no reply, D went down the stone stairs. The bow shook slightly. D’s left hand raced out for the steel arrow howling through the air. Realizing that the little mouth in his palm had stopped his missile, the figure in black was thoroughly shaken.

  Using the moment as an opening, D made a mad dash. As the shadowy figure kicked off the ground, a deadly thrust stretched toward his torso. The blade went into his chest through his black garments. Leaving only the jolt of that contact behind, the man leapt back to the iron fence.

  D threw his sword, his beloved blade—a truly frightening move. It pierced the man’s heart, went right through him, and didn’t stop until it struck one of the iron bars of the gate.

  D looked around. There was no sign of his foe in front of the iron gate. Then D saw him behind it, holding the left side of his chest as it dripped bright blood, slowly retreating into the depths of the forest.

  Removing his sword from the fence, D pushed against the gate. With a slavering sound, his left hand spat out the arrow, and the missile fell against the bricks. A chain had been wound around the gate repeatedly. Raising his right hand, D swung it back down without particular difficulty. White sparks flew, and the chains dropped off like a lifeless serpent.

  “Please, don’t go,” Sybille said, her voice mingling with the creak of the iron gate. “If you won’t kill me, I’ll—”

  “—kill me?” D said.

  Kill to destroy. Kill to not be destroyed.

  “That’s a human for you,” the voice in his left hand muttered.

  At that moment, pale blue sparks shot from the iron gate. D furrowed his brow as purplish smoke and faint groans rose from his left hand as it wrapped around the fence.

  “Don’t go. I beg of you!”

  D pushed the gate open. All at once, the wind buffeted him. The moonlight scattered, and the forest wailed. Shredded leaves whirled around D like a cyclone. Fine lines of vermilion raced across his pallid cheeks. The foliage had become razor-sharp fragments of steel that slashed his skin.

  Like great black wings, the hem of his coat spread, whistling as it dropped again. Every bit of airborne foliage was batted away, and they imbedded themselves in the ground.

  “Stop your idle threats,” said the Hunter. “If you want to be killed, you’d better try to kill me, too.”

  “But . . . If I did that . . .” Sybille said, her voice borne on the wind.

  D’s left hand chuckled with delight. “That was an awful thing to say. But at least you’re showing your true colors . . .”

  The left hand then gave a muffled cry of pain as D squeezed the melted flesh into a tight fist and walked away.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” the woman called out. “Unless you wake up, you can’t get out of here. There’s nowhere for you to go.” Her voice seemed to follow him forever.

  No place to go. For D, that made this place no different than anywhere else.

  Thunder rumbled in the distant sky.

  .

  Nan entered the vacant lot. It was a pale, moonlit night. Her eyes were incredibly sharp, and she just couldn’t get to sleep. Her quarrel with Kane was part of it, but at the same time, she was also aware that it wasn’t the main reason. As she lay in bed, she couldn’t close her eyes without seeing that Hunter’s face. It rose in her heart just like the pale moon.

  She’d gone outside to cool her head a bit. As the wind pushed her around her yard, she’d gotten an urge to go for a walk, and the next thing she knew, she was on the path that led to the vacant lot. She didn’t have the faintest idea why she was going there.

  On entering the lot, she immediately spotted D leaning back against a tall tree at the edge of the grove with his eyes shut. Jealousy filled her as she surmised that he was probably visiting Sybille’s mansion. Muffling her footsteps, she walked over to his side.

  As the girl gently reached out to touch D’s shoulder, his eyes opened. Unfathomable in their hue, his eyes gazed at the paralyzed and dumbstruck Nan. “I’m glad you woke me up,” he said. “Well done.”

  “Sure,” Nan replied, her eyes wide. She had no way of knowing D had been stuck in a dead end in the dream world.

  “What brings you here?”

  “You—you’re covered in blood . . .” the girl stammered.

  “The wound has healed.”

  “But it looks awful,” she said. “Come to my house. I’ll clean it up for you.”

  “Just leave it be,” D said, lightly shutting his eyes. Then he quickly asked, “Did you make up with that boy you were arguing with earlier?”

  “Why, that’s—” Nan began, about to tell him it was none of his business, but in the end she merely shook her head. The gorgeous young man, arrogant and cold-blooded, had suddenly looked so isolated and weary to her. Though she couldn’t tell what his hat, boots, and coat were made of, there wasn’t a loose thread or a mark on them. But the body they sheltered had no place to call home, and the reality of that hit her painfully hard. Surely this young man hadn’t known even one night’s peace. Tears filled Nan’s eyes as she closed them, trying to chalk her own reaction up to adolescent sentimentality. Wiping away her tears, she opened her eyes again. D was looking up at her, and she began to blush.

  “What’s wrong?” asked D.

  “Nothing. Please, don’t say anything to scare me.”

  “Are you still afraid of me?”

  Nan had no reply.

  “You’re the only one who dreamt of me three times. Do you have any idea why?”

  “None whatsoever.” As D’s gaze left her, Nan damned her luck. “Um—aren’t you even gonna ask me what I’m doing out here?” Though she’d broached the matter timidly enough, D didn’t answer her. Nan could’ve cursed hers
elf for asking such

  a stupid question. “I couldn’t get to sleep, so I decided to go for

  a walk. It’s not like I went out looking for you or anything. Don’t get the wrong idea.”

  While she realized she was just going to end up hurting herself, she couldn’t help speaking. She’d probably hate herself in the worst way for it later.

  “It’s a lovely night,” D said suddenly. “Quite appropriate for a peaceful village. Do you wish it could always be this way?”

  Not fully understanding what he was getting at, Nan nodded anyway. She just felt like she had to. “This is where I was born,” she said. “There’s no place else quite as nice.”

  “Ever thought about leaving?”

  Nan shook off the moonlight. “You mean to go to some distant village?” she asked. “Sure, I’d like to go, but I don’t know what I’d find there. That scares me.”

  “How about your boyfriend?”

  “You mean Kane? Give him another year and I’m sure he’ll zip out of the village like an eagle freed from a snare. All the boys are like that. They’re not the least bit afraid of the unknown. Or maybe they go because they’re afraid.”

  Out on the Frontier, there weren’t all that many young people who left their home villages. For villages that relied solely on local industries to support themselves, young people were an irreplaceable labor force—more precious than anything. Because the young men and women themselves understood this, the vast majority of them were destined to reach maturity, grow old, and go to their eternal reward all in that same village. Still, there were some young people who set out seeking the world beyond their village, while the ones that remained at home kept their love of unexplored territory burning deep in their hearts, with all the fire of a youth’s feverish imaginings.

  “How about Sybille?” D asked. His voice stirred the moonlight.

  A strange turmoil engulfed Nan. Her lips trembling, she said the name of the dreamer. Why did D ask her such a thing when she’d never known her as anything but a slumbering princess?