Iriya the Berserker

by Hideyuki Kikuchi

  The hoarse voice didn’t answer.

  D went outside.

  “What’s this?” the hoarse voice exclaimed, sounding intrigued.

  There was no sign of the Hunter’s cyborg horse.

  “That’s no small feat, taking that horse without you or me noticing it.”

  “You’re the one who didn’t notice.”

  “Huh?”

  “A formless presence is on the move. It came from the center of town and got rid of the horse.”

  “Where’d it go?”

  “Back where it came from.”

  In less than five minutes’ time, D stood in front of an old cylindrical building. A theater.

  Though entertainment on the Frontier wasn’t as rare as those in the Capital believed, anything culturally redolent of the Capital was restricted to the traveling plays and concerts that might visit a few times a year. It was easy to dismiss those who constructed such theaters, both large and small, as bumpkins or pretentious posers. But in a theater much smaller and simpler than this, in a community far more isolated than this town, one Yuna O’Conner—considered the world’s greatest violinist—had packed the house day in and day out from the time he was a child. He referred to the boards of that theater’s wood-plank stage as his “parents.”

  The front doors had been left wide open, and D passed through one of the many doors set in the wall within. This had to be the theater’s stage. A stone floor about thirty feet in diameter, it was surrounded by stone seats that radiated out from it and climbed gradually to a height of about fifteen feet.

  On the Frontier, theater was like a drug that people had a love-hate relationship with—the genius playwright OX had worked for the Nobility, penning the series of plays called the Aristocrat Saga, in which any nameless hick actor could deliver his lines in a monotone, and the seasoned audience members would still offer up thunderous applause that would shake the sunlight, the moonlight, and even the wind.

  Regrettably, this time there was no applause at all.

  D turned first as if moving his head to catch the sound of the wind, then angled his eyes upward. In the last row of seats on the northern side was a man with his hair pulled back in a ponytail. He wore a leather cape over a reddish floor-length coat.

  “Nice of you to come. Thought maybe I was gonna have to go get you!” Grinning from ear to ear, he said, “I’m Isaac Nogia. I’m a drifter and a warrior. I’ve always wanted to meet the great D we hear so much about all over the Frontier!”

  “Who hired you?”

  “Why, Baron Mitterhaus. I’m sure you must’ve heard of him. He was a big deal back in the day, with two hundred villages and a hundred and forty-eight towns under his thumb in these parts. The first Mitterhaus was attacked and slain by the lousy farmers, but the one who took his place prides himself on his hidden power.”

  “He’s not anyone I’ve been hired to deal with.”

  “So why is he gunning for you, you wonder? On account of you’re just so goddamn good looking. Nah, just kidding. It’s not you I’ve got business with. It’s the girl.”

  “Why?”

  “Damned if I know,” Nogia replied, shrugging his shoulders. His ponytail swayed. “But if a Frontier Noble went to all the trouble of hiring me and the rest to catch ’er, he’s probably got a damned good reason. So, if you’ll keep out of this, I won’t mess with you. Just tell yourself you barely know her.”

  From the start, she’d been someone D barely knew. But if someone had been able to peer into his mind at that moment, they’d undoubtedly have seen something quite interesting.

  The man whose beauty shamed the very sunlight stared silently at the other man. A heartbeat later, Nogia leapt out of his seat like a shot from a gun.

  “Well, surprise, surprise! I’d heard D was a loner, through and through. Since when do you side with a woman that’s got nothing to do with you? Oh, I get it. She hired you, did she?” Nogia’s tall frame trembled fiercely. “Now that’s a real look you’ve got in your eye. I’ve come across a ton of assholes saying they’ve been through hell and back, but you’re the real deal. It’ll be an honor to fight you!”

  “What happened to the people in this town?”

  Nogia furrowed his brow. The Hunter’s gorgeous, steely voice had suddenly changed to the hoarse tones of a geezer.

  “You practicing your ventriloquism or something? Well, as for the townsfolk, my pet doggie got ’em.”

  “They were gobbled up?”

  “Pretty much. My buddy only needs to eat once a month, but you wouldn’t believe how much he packs away. Swallowed everything from cyborg horses to housecats, but in the meantime the stagecoach bolted. If it weren’t for that, we’d have lured that girl in here with you. Not a problem, though. Sorry, but you’re gonna drown in the sea of acid in my buddy’s stomach.”

  “Here it comes!” the hoarse voice said.

  D stood there quietly. It was as if he hadn’t even heard the voice.

  Perhaps frightened by that blossom of black ice, Nogia shouted loudly, “Come on out, buddy!”

  D’s eyes reflected something white gushing from the man’s mouth. A shadow passed across the sun. In midair, the form spread like a pink parasol. The umbrella looked to be more than thirty feet across, and a split second before its lower rim could touch the ground behind the Hunter, there was a silvery flash from D’s back. The blade he drew slashed at least six feet into the thing. And then D bounded into the air.

  He landed a good six feet from the rim of the umbrella.

  “Not good,” an urgent tone from the vicinity of his left hand told him.

  D’s body was tinged with white. The brim of his traveler’s hat, the hem of his coat, and more than anything the blade of his sword were giving off a whitish smoke. The instant the umbrella was cut, a transparent liquid had poured like rain from inside it. It was acid strong enough to melt the steel blade of the Hunter’s sword.

  “That thing—it’s his stomach,” the left hand whispered. “And that acid could dissolve iron. You’d do well to avoid it!”

  D discarded his sword. Before him was a rippling mass of digestive organs the size of a small bog, which quickly began giving off the same white smoke.

  From a distance, Nogia called out, “I should expect as much from the man known as D. Will we take each other down now, or call it a draw—aargh!”

  He ended in a cry of pain. A needle of stark wood, hurled by D, had pierced the white smoke—and Nogia.

  “You—you son of a bitch—I can’t believe you . . .”

  As he groaned in a tone of astonishment and despair, the pale pink ground rose up.

  Leaping more than fifteen feet away from the thing bearing down on him like a tsunami, D went for the dagger on his hip with his right hand.

  The white smoke suddenly pulled back. As it was sucked into the theater seats with surprising speed, it called to mind a deflating balloon.

  There was no sign of Nogia.

  “You threw a second needle at him, but it missed all his vitals? He’s not too shabby, either.” Sniffing loudly, the hoarse voice continued, “From the scent of blood, I think you might’ve nailed him in an artery. He won’t be moving for a while. But if Mitterhaus of all people is gunning for her, that girl sure must have a hell of a secre—gaaah!”

  Jamming his left hand against the brim of his traveler’s hat, D charged toward where Nogia had been. His running speed was so great it seemed as if he flew there.

  Blood had spilled on the floor, and D’s eyes followed a trail of splotches to a narrow exit. He headed for it without hesitation.

  The Hunter’s left hand shifted from the hat to the hem of his coat, where it coughed and sputtered as it said, “As always, you’re a hard master for your left hand! You’re gonna make me get rid of all this strong acid, too?” It quickly continued, “What’s wrong? Snap out of it!”

  One hand still braced against the stone wall, D was slowly sinking toward the floor. His back quaked, and the mass
of blood he spat on the floor spread like a crimson blossom.

  “Poisoned blood?” the hoarse voice said in a stuffy tone, holding its breath.

  Less than a second later the next gob of blood flew, bringing a gory flower into bloom on one of the seats.

  II

  The sound of singing reached their ears less than five minutes after D had gone into town. Both of them looked around, but of course there was no sign of anyone. It was a phantasmal voice, seeming to come both from the heavens on high and the bowels of the earth—a woman’s voice that would hardly be described as beautiful, yet at some point both the idea of searching for the source of the song and that of fleeing to somewhere where they’d no longer hear it vanished from Iriya’s mind. The voice was like the threads of a mysterious spider’s web, snagging Iriya’s and Meeker’s brains, digging into them, restricting the movements of the most critical faculties.

  Turning to Meeker, Iriya said, “Let’s go.”

  “Okay.” Meeker nodded. His eyes, like hers, were strangely unfocused.

  Taking the reins, the Huntress turned her cyborg horse around, and the two of them began riding back the way they’d come.

  Before they’d gone five hundred yards, a desolate rocky place appeared to their right. A short time earlier, they’d passed this spot without any trouble. Here and there the rocks were punctuated with dashes of green in the form of such plants as rough bloom and water-free grass in patches of varying size but similar shape. In keeping with rumors that this had been one of the Nobility’s quarries in ancient times, chunks and slabs of cut stone were lying all around.

  It soon became apparent that the pair’s destination was about a hundred feet ahead: a slab of rock that lay at an angle with its right end sticking up.

  Who would’ve thought to cut such a piece of stone, how had they managed it, and why had they abandoned it? Though the end was only about thirty feet in the air, the slab seemed to stretch through the entire quarry, easily surpassing six hundred feet in length. It was about thirty feet wide, and more than ten feet thick. The apparent foolishness of whoever had cut it was overridden by the sense of grandeur the slab inspired, with its mass probably in excess of three hundred tons.

  Even on seeing the beautiful woman seated at the upper end of the slab brushing her hair, the two travelers didn’t reveal so much as a wisp of emotion on their faces.

  Before long they’d crunched across the rocks to reach the base of the stone slab, at which point the singing seemed to cut off.

  If a student or a scholar who’d heard the ancient legends had been there, they probably would’ve been able to recall the name of the siren who sat atop an enormous stone, possessed of a rare singing voice that bewitched those steering their boats up and down the great river below and led them to reduce their craft to flotsam on the jagged rocks.

  Dressed in a gossamer robe of silver, the woman had hair so golden the light of the sun paled by comparison. After standing up and bounding from the stone, she landed lightly in front of the pair. Her robe seemed to go on forever, its folds swaying elegantly in the breeze.

  “Welcome. My name is Lorelei. I’m so pleased you seemed to enjoy my song.”

  Iriya knew instinctively that this woman was evil. Her alluring singing voice, the spectacularly acrobatic entrance she’d made, and more than anything, the sensuousness and air of the supernatural that billowed from her captivating form were proof of that. She had to get Meeker to a safe place so she could counterattack. However, that notion dissolved in the powerful acids of her brain, changing, keeping Iriya from fighting.

  Still, on seeing the Huntress’s hand beginning to creep toward the scabbard on her hip, the woman—Lorelei—smiled alluringly.

  “Even a full-fledged warrior can’t move a muscle when he hears my song. You’re really something special. It’s no use, though. Hear it once, and you’re my slave. Now, come with me.”

  The woman took Iriya’s horse by the bridle and was about to walk away when she halted. Looking behind Iriya, she said, “Can’t have any unnecessary baggage. I have no use for you, so I’ll do away with you here.”

  Gesturing with one arm to the end of the stone slab she’d occupied, she said, “There’s something interesting just over there. See it—and die.”

  Though her tone was businesslike, there was enough seductiveness in Lorelei’s voice to make up for it. Even a grown man would do whatever she said without being under her spell, and no other man would blame him for it.

  Nodding, Meeker got down off the horse.

  Watching the diminutive figure skillfully scramble up a rock shelf, the beauty who called herself Lorelei twisted her lips into an evil grin and then started down the road Iriya had come by. And as she did, the terrible siren song once again began to issue from her vermilion lips.

  The same song reverberated in Meeker’s brain. And as it did, the suggestion he’d just received—to see what was over there and die—became a powerful compulsion. He didn’t have strength enough left to fight it.

  Reaching Lorelei’s slab of stone, the boy climbed to the top and looked over the other side. And there he stood, rooted. A scene spread before him. Though interesting, it could hardly be called fascinating. In his present state of mind, nothing Meeker saw would move him, but even if he’d been in his right mind, he probably wouldn’t have comprehended what he was seeing. Or not so much what as where.

  The rock had been cleanly cut away to a depth of three feet in an area almost thirty feet square. On the midpoint of each side just beyond the edge of the nearly square depression were holes for what must once have been pillars, and judging by the face that remained on a ten-foot-tall religious icon that stood before the hole on the northern side, this had been, if not a temple, then at least a place for some sort of religious rituals. However, it was undoubtedly something other than this that Lorelei had described as interesting.

  In the carved-out section were steep stone steps, a huge stone altar, some sort of washing area, and rust-covered machines whose purpose was unknown, and bizarre creatures were wriggling on or around all of these things. A human adult might barely be able to get their arms around the thick, ten-foot-long body of one of these creatures. In form they resembled colossal leeches, while their supple movements called to mind a smaller version of the great worms. There seemed to be dozens of them, and the way they writhed in the sunlight, twitching and twisting, was so horrible it would’ve caused the boy to run away screaming had his will been his own. In fact, Meeker’s feet became rooted for an instant, Lorelei’s suggestion forgotten. However, it was only for an instant, and erasing the vision of terror that filled his eyes, the boy walked toward the awful workroom of death without further hesitation.

  The creatures infesting the work area were carnivores. While most similar species usually inhabited dark, swampy areas, this kind could also operate in daylight, which aided them in gathering food. The secret of their vitality was pressurized water reserves stored beneath their skin, which allowed them to remain aboveground for nearly twelve hours. Their nest was under this area, and they would periodically surface and crawl around, feeding on spiders and birds—and travelers.

  And now the sort of delectable morsel they hadn’t tasted for decades was headed into their midst. Their olfactory senses caught the odor of their prey, sensors in their skin cells felt the vibrations of feet making contact with the ground, their hearing made out the footsteps—they could even catch the sound of the blood pumping through the prey’s veins. They lacked sight. The writhing denizens of the earth’s depths had no use for eyes. The remaining senses conveyed everything.

  Big. Soft. Tasty.

  That was how the information would’ve looked in human language, and their primitive senses transformed the hunger that pervaded them into adrenaline. Moving their long bodies just like inchworms, the invertebrates raced toward their prey.

  Two forces tormented Meeker. One was Lorelei’s command to die, the other a primal wish for self-preservatio
n—and though the two urges clashed, he backed away only a single step before halting.

  One of the insects before him had closed to within ten feet. It had a blunt head split in a cross shape. Its crimson maw had rows of stark fangs like glassy thorns.

  A streak of light fell from the sky. Over Meeker’s head, the small gleam became dozens of arrows of light that lanced through the insects’ bodies. Surprisingly enough, the projectiles pierced the very rock. Most of them had found their mark, but the few that hadn’t were jutting from the stone of the quarry.

  Perhaps those strays had been intended for the creature that ignored its shuddering compatriots and launched itself at Meeker. However, just as its pernicious fangs were about to close on the boy’s head, a horizontal streak of silver pierced the loathsome insect.

  On landing, D hurled three more needles that impaled the remaining creatures, then coughed violently. The left hand he used to cover his mouth was stained with blood.

  “You haven’t fully recovered yet—and I ain’t so hot, either.”

  Even when Meeker heard the hoarse voice say that, his color didn’t return, and he looked impassively at D and his ghastly state.

  “He’s mesmerized, I’d say,” the hoarse voice remarked, sounding somewhat pained.

  D put his bloodstained hand to Meeker’s head.

  “Well, I’ll be—he’s been captivated by the Lorelei’s song. Not good. He’ll stay this way until the one who bound him is slain or the spell is broken!”

  “You could do it, couldn’t you?” D said. His lips and mouth were both covered with fresh blood. Even racked by deadly poison, he had a voice as cold as ice and steel.

  “Yeah. It’s pretty painful, though!”

  “For which of you?”

  “Me, actually.”

  The Hunter’s hand went flat against Meeker’s brow. A faint groan could be heard, but D paid it no mind, surveying his surroundings as he held the pose.

  A cloud rolled across the heavens. The shadow it cast on the earth casually crept from east to west, and when it reached the young man and the boy in the quarry, D had already taken his left handaway.