“Figured I’d swing by this way on my way home from a night out drinking—these are ‘murder monks,’ aren’t they? All three of you better stand clear of them.”
The rings stopped turning.
“Now!”
Leiden jumped back. Habaki and Elsa both followed suit.
Great scythes gleamed. Black blood gushed out. It fell like rain on robed figures with blades stuck deep in their neck, who flopped noisily to the floor.
“What the hell is this?! They killed themselves with their own scythes?” Habaki said, staring at the latest intruder. It was a harsh look he gave the man, one most would call a glare. The rings had started moving around him again.
“See, I just went and changed the direction gravity was working on them,” the man sneered. “So no matter where they shot or slashed, they all went off in different directions. Like at themselves, for example. And if that wasn’t enough to stop ’em, I’d have crushed ’em flat.”
Though there was a certain refinement to his features, his laugh seemed more than just wild; it was positively savage. There was no way on earth this was just an ordinary traveler.
Habaki had a pretty good idea who he might be.
“You one of the fellas that came here from the Capital with that scientist?”
“Yeah, along with three others. They picked me up on the way here. Hired me in a village called Grunerhat.”
“Oh, so you’re an anti-Noble warrior.”
The village in question had a training center for anti-Noble warriors.
“More or less. When you come right down to it, I’m closer to you folks than I am to them.”
“Good,” Elsa said, slumping back against the wall. Her combat suit weighed over two hundred pounds. It had a feedback system that allowed the wearer to control it.
“I heard there were some young folks in the village who had some spine. That’s you guys, I take it? But if you’re gonna try and take a bite out of the Nobility, you’d best keep in mind their teeth are a thousand times sharper than yours.”
“We know,” Leiden replied, his tone polite.
“You here to confab about some Noble exterminating? No sudden moves, now.” And saying that, the man raised the liquor bottle he had in one hand and took a swig. Gasping for breath, he wiped his lips and smiled at the trio.
“Will you help us?” Habaki ventured.
“Me? Sorry, but I’m already working for the Professor. Him and you are like fire and water. Forget we ever met, and what I did here today. Otherwise, I’ll have to slit your throats. This job pays damn well, you know, and I’m not about to lose it.”
Elsa stepped forward, saying, “As a warrior in Grunerhat, you must’ve trained long and hard toward slaying Nobles. If it’s money you want, we’ll manage something. Join up with us.”
“Spare me, sister,” the man said, bending backward with laughter. “It’s more money than you could earn in a decade of honest work. You’d better spend a little more time learning just how the world works. Then you can go play at being Hunters.”
The trio fell silent. If not for him, they were the ones who would’ve been slain. That much was certain.
“Well, guess I’ll be on my way. The monks have started to melt and everything.”
The other three surveyed their surroundings. White smoke poured from the robed figures as they and their clothes dissolved into a flesh-colored goo.
“Even their scythes . . .” Elsa murmured.
“Probably all made of the same stuff. Your enemies are a rank or two above you. So run on home and find decent jobs. There’s someone better suited to dealing with the Nobility you can leave this to, am I right?”
“D . . .”
“You got it. I ran into him in front of the castle. He’s not just scary, he’s freaking bottomless. None of us could do anything about it, but he just made the drawbridge come down and rode across it like it was no big deal. I know a couple of Nobility Hunters, but he’s a freak on a whole different level. Chances are—” the man began, his expression making the hearts of the youthful trio beat faster.
“Chances are what?” Elsa asked in a whisper.
“He could be even more of a freak than the Nobles. And I ain’t talking about your ordinary Nobles, either.”
“If you don’t mean ordinary Nobles, then what?” Habaki inquired, swallowing hard.
But the man turned his back to them. “See ya. Next time we meet, we’ll probably be on opposite sides—I hope it doesn’t come to that, though.”
“Wait. At least give us your name,” Elsa said, her voice trailing after him.
“It’s Ringard.”
“I’m Elsa Garry. And that’s Leiden Pomme.”
“I’m Habaki Mejiba. We’re fighting to destroy Grand Duke Bergenzy.”
“Yeah, you’re fighting,” he said in a sarcastic tone, his words hanging for ages in the darkness of the doorway.
Habaki coughed. It sounded terribly painful. And he couldn’t stop.
“Let’s get him to Doc Chavez,” Elsa said, running over and taking him by the shoulder.
Though they had to be dragged out of bed, the village’s sole physician, along with Tabana, his only nurse, quickly made preparations to deal with their patient. Chavez had two sons, neither of whom had followed in his footsteps.
After scanning the man from head to toe with a device that could diagnose ailments on a cellular level, Doc Chavez assured him, “You’ll be fine. You’re coughing from the gas you inhaled, but it’s nothing serious.”
“Do me a favor and spare me your lies.”
“What?!”
“Doc, I’ve known you all my life. Before I had my tonsils out two years ago, I was in here to see you every week. I know you better than you know yourself, Doc.”
Rolling over on the bed, Habaki faced Nurse Tabana, who stood gravely down by his feet.
“Isn’t that right?”
“Yes, you might at that,” the nurse replied, sounding pained.
Rubbing the back of his hoary head, the doctor said, “Okay. The gas turns the nuclei of your cells into those of a dead man. I call it ‘zombification,’ and without a doubt it’s what’s happening here.”
Habaki let his shoulders fall.
The doctor and nurse fell silent. It was said that these were the two most trying professions in the world they lived in. And that was on account of the sheer frequency with which they were left feeling powerless.
However, Habaki soon looked up at them. He did it so quickly, the two of them were left exchanging looks of surprise.
“How long do I have?” he asked.
“I can’t say for sure, but from the rate it’s going, I’d say about a week. It could be a little more or less, depending on how strong you are.”
“How long will I be able to move around?”
“Right up until the moment of your death, I’d say. Actually, you’ll probably die on your feet and be reanimated while you’re walking around.”
“Well, I’ve seen my fair share of zombies. I’ll end up wanting to eat my friends and family, too, won’t I?”
“That might well be, though I suppose that may depend on your strength of will.”
Tabana had to look away.
“How about keeping my wits about me?”
“That shouldn’t be a problem right up until death.”
“I see. Please, don’t say anything about this to my two friends in the waiting room—or anybody else.”
“Understood,” the doctor said with a purposeful nod before continuing, “I do have one request, though.”
“What might that be?”
“Come back here before sundown and let me explain your condition to you in detail. I’d like to read up on how best to treat it. Of course, I’m not forcing you to do it.”
“Okay, Doc. No guarantees, but I’ll try to make it.”
“Much obliged. It would mean a lot to me. Oh, you’ve got to have a glass of this milk. I can’t recommend it enough. P
arson’s granddaughter does the milking and selling at her pa’s ranch. It’s divine!”
“No, thanks. Can’t taste anything anymore.”
At a loss for words, the doctor set his hand down on the young man’s shoulder. The palm of his hand felt hot—because the shoulder was cold.
In his heart of hearts, Habaki was crying out for a certain someone.
Hurry up and destroy the grand duke. Do that, and I might not have to go out this way. And wind up a slave to the vampires.
The Shape of Nobility, the Shape of Humanity
Chapter 4
I
Françoise was fast asleep in an opulent bed until, sensing a certain someone nearby, she awakened. An electronic lamp shaped like a gentian blossom was burning. She could see that a figure stood in the depths of the darkness.
“Vyken?” she inquired in a hushed tone.
In lieu of a reply, the shadowy figure came closer.
Sensing an unavoidable sadness in the face of the young man looking down lovingly at her from beside her bed, Françoise had all she could do to curb her own urge to reach out to him with both hands. All she could do now was shut her eyes tightly and draw her covers closer.
“Leave,” she told him. “If the grand duke finds you here, he’ll—”
“He’s sleeping now.”
“He came back?” she asked, her eyes going wide of their own accord.
“Yeah. Soaked in blood. To have left someone of his standing in such a state, that Hunter truly is the fearsome foe he’s reputed to be.”
“He was so beautiful. Is he dead?”
“No, apparently he’s been sealed away in the Shrine of Information. And that’s on a planet a hundred million light years from Earth. He won’t be coming back soon. Perhaps not ever.”
“Then it was no use after all, was it?”
“Françoise, the grand duke is one of the few fortunate enough to have been allowed to meet the Sacred Ancestor face to face.”
“I know that. And I’m not sure how I should feel, either. Should I be saddened by this or gladdened?”
“This is such a bizarre conversation. It’s one thing to hear about something, and another thing entirely to see it. He’s given us so much, hasn’t he?”
“Serve him as best you can, Vyken. That way lies your reward as a human being.”
“To be honest, I’m not sure what I should do. That’s why I need at least one thing in this castle I know to be real and true.”
Hunching down, he brought his face closer to the girl’s.
“We can’t, Vyken. I don’t know where I stand, either. Do I belong to the grand duke, or am I still part of the human race?”
“Françoise!”
Powerful fingers held her delicate chin, turning her face toward his. His lips came closer—and then met hers.
“Stop it. I’ll call the others in here!” Françoise told him, turning her face away. Tears rolled down her cheeks. In her right hand was a golden bell for summoning the help.
“I’ll come back another time.”
The young man left without making a sound. In this castle, even humans walked as stealthily as shadows.
A different voice drifted through the room, saying, “I have word about Jozen.”
Françoise spun violently in that direction.
“I’ve heard that there’s a young man creating weapons and other technology on par with that of the Nobility for a resistance group in the village. Apparently, they’re to be disposed of in short order.”
Without waiting for a response from her, the presence faded away. It was buried in the darkness.
“Vyken,” the girl said, finally reaching out with her pale hands, but there was no longer anyone there. And not even the glow from the gentian blossom lamp could reach him.
†
You could say that evening was a succession of dangerous situations.
It was just about the same time the battle royal at the abandoned house was ending that somebody banged on the door of Marcella’s house.
“Who’s there?” someone asked, but it wasn’t Marcella directing the question toward the door. Rather, it came from the back bedroom and was aimed at Marcella, who was in the kitchen.
Marcella’s husband was gazing down at her from a picture on the mantel of the fireplace in the living room, as he had for the last five years.
Extinguishing the flame fed by chemical fuel and checking to make sure the hot water hadn’t boiled yet, she went over to the bedroom door and replied, “I don’t know.” Her mood suddenly turning foul, she added, “It’s probably your wife.”
“Are you serious?!”
The man’s tone of unparalleled fear drew a little snort of contempt from her, after which she said, “What should I do? Open it up and see who’s there?”
“No, hold up—I’ll slip out the back way in a sec.”
“Seems like you were expecting this. Think she followed you here?”
“Shut up!”
The mad impatience of his reply was overlaid with another knock.
Marcella noticed something strange. The sound was coming from down too low. As if somebody had crawled over there.
Quickly returning to the kitchen, she got her gun off the shelf. No sooner did she think to herself, Here goes nothing, than the man called to her, “So long. But I’ll be back.”
“Just don’t forget to bring your allowance,” she said in a low tone.
In an even lower one he replied, “I know, I know.”
The hinges of the back door creaked open, creaked again, and then fell silent.
“Piece of shit,” she spat, and then she started thinking about what might happen to her now.
Who’s outside? Who’d be crawling around out there at this hour, and why the hell would they bother knocking? Hear that? There they go again.
Marcella made up her mind. Ignoring this didn’t seem like it was going to be an option. And it might be somebody was hurt out there. Looking up at the photo over the fireplace, she said, “Keep me safe.”
Approaching the door with leaden steps, she grabbed hold of the wooden doorknob. There were protective talismans attached to the door inside and out, and she couldn’t complain about the job they’d done of keeping her safe up until now.
“Oh, hell,” she exclaimed, opening the door and poking her gun out.
Only darkness spread before her. Just as she’d expected. Well, then—look a little lower.
“What the blazes?!” she cried.
A left hand from the wrist down lay there.
You mean to tell me that hand did the knocking?
Knowing this to be impossible all the while, Marcella was mesmerized by the beauty of the hand she should’ve found horrifying.
My gods, the fingers are so elegant. Why, they’d be too good to touch or hold ordinary stuff. I’d just like to leave them here as they are, untouched forever.
“Hey,” said a hoarse voice, but it couldn’t possibly have come from the gorgeous limb at her feet, could it?
Time and again Marcella told herself it was impossible, but eventually she had to accept it as an undeniable fact, and that threw her into a vertigo of despair.
“Steady, there,” the hoarse voice said to her, and somehow that set her right again. “I want your help with something. Come with me.”
“Wh-wh-what kind of demon are you?” Marcella inquired in a quavering tone.
“What you see is what you get. I’d tell you I’m no monster, but I don’t expect you’d believe me. There’s an injured guy just across the road. Carry him over here. All you’ve gotta do is give him a shoulder to lean on.”
She wanted to bellow, Like hell I will! but her eyes were glued to the weird hand. Somewhere out in the night, the owner of that beautiful hand was waiting for help.
I really wanna see him, Marcella thought.
“Okay,” she groaned with a manic enthusiasm. “Lead the way.”
“Much obliged.”
And wi
th those unmistakable words of gratitude the hand deftly changed direction and skittered across the street.
The man in question was flat on his back in a thicket of chicharan bushes on the far side of the street. Despite the black traveler’s hat and coat, which even through the gloom of night were quite clearly stained with blood, and the pale face with a mind-numbingly haggard look on it, the instant Marcella saw him she lost the ability to think.
If I were to faint right now, I couldn’t awaken to a more wonderful sight as long as I live.
“He’s . . . so beautiful . . .”
“Enough about that. Make with the carrying already. He could die if we don’t do something. Damn it, pull yourself together, woman. Save his life, and I’ll have him give you a kiss as a reward for your cooperation.”
“You mean it?!” she asked, her tone as crisp as thunder.
The hoarse voice fell silent.
She forgot all about the blood. Marcella grabbed the man in black by one arm and pulled him up. She felt only the slightest resistance, and then the young man of unearthly beauty got up on his feet, still leaning on Marcella when the hoarse voice said, “This way. Over here.”
Following after the left hand, she took a heavy step forward. Marcella let out a sigh of relief. It occurred to her that she’d sell her very soul just to keep walking arm in arm with him like this.
Shortly after the two of them and the severed limb disappeared into the house, a diminutive figure slipped out from behind the building and moved into the forest with carefully muffled footsteps. Not long thereafter, there was the sound of hoofbeats receding in the distance.
The young man’s gait was unexpectedly sure, but as they went from the living room to the parlor it suddenly faltered. Slipping off Marcella’s shoulder, he fell flat on his back on the floor, where he didn’t budge an inch.
“It can’t be,” Marcella murmured, her words tinged not just with concern but with fear.
“Relax. He’s just passed out, that’s all,” a voice told her from atop the young man’s chest.
Noble Front Page 7
