Iriya the Berserker

by Hideyuki Kikuchi

  “I should like to confirm her name with you. What does she go by?”

  Silence spread. On the road through the pass, with the darkness and the rain.

  Yet through it all, a sharp tone replied, “I’m Annette Krishken! Do you have some business with me?”

  Before the driver could open his mouth, a trembling voice like a plucking of golden harp strings covered with blood said, “Yes—just as I thought.”

  To the driver, the speaker sounded moved nearly to tears.

  “I was so excited, I set out before my compatriots and arrived first. I knew out on the plains it would be impossible to miss you. It was in this auspicious spot that long ago our clan discovered Grand Duke Jekyll’s army in a driving rain, striking the first blow and wiping them out. Come to think of it, the hour is nearly the same, and just look at the weather. It must be through divine providence that I can now make the daughter of our nemesis one of our kind in this very place. Woman—descendant of the Krishkens—step down from the coach.”

  “Now wait just a minute,” the driver interrupted. The speaker’s words had returned him to his senses. Letting the whip in his right hand lie across his knees, he said, “Just who in the name of hell are you, buster? Since you’ve flat out ignored me, I don’t give a good goddamn about anything you have to say.”

  “And you shall stop me?” the voice from the darkness asked with amusement.

  “It’s my job to see to it my passenger makes it safely to her destination. Sorry, but as a rule, this is how I deal with thieves, highwaymen, and kidnappers.”

  He turned the butt end of the whip toward the source of the voice. A concealed trigger was revealed, and the driver’s finger curled around it and pulled. Though he held the weapon at waist level, long experience guaranteed the accuracy of his aim.

  With an impact like a scorching blow from a small dragon, a ball of hot lead was swallowed up into pitch-blackness. The man’s gut. While that wasn’t as lethal as a shot through the heart, ninety-nine times out of a hundred it would take the fight out of an opponent.

  For his next attack the driver discarded the whip, grabbing the repeating rifle that stood next to his seat. This time he took careful aim. He braced the weapon against his shoulder.

  Suddenly white flames glowed before his eyes, not two inches from him. No, not flames, but a pale face. It only looked like flame on account of its beauty. Before he could even wonder if there could be a man with such exquisite features in this world, the driver was drowning in that beauty. He didn’t even have time enough to question when the man had come right up in front of him.

  The gun fell.

  The other man’s face smiled alluringly.

  “My name is Baron Nichol Hayden, of the first house of Xeno. When you reach the hereafter, you may tell them this: I had the good fortune of being sent to hell by a kiss from the esteemed baron.”

  And then the driver was as motionless as if he hung in midair while the alluring red lips of the other face pressed to his like a lover’s. Two seconds passed . . . three . . . A bewitching moment in the darkness where none would see. Even the thunder held its breath.

  Finally, the pale face pulled away. The driver’s face didn’t move.

  Lightning zipped down. The face it illuminated was as shriveled and dry as that of a mummy. Like a dead branch, the body dropped jerkily from the driver’s seat to the ground, its fall punctuated by a roar of thunder.

  “The obstacle has been removed. Come, child!” She was addressed by a face that’d returned to its place atop the steed. “You saw the kiss I just gave, did you not? Do you find me comely? If so, there shall be no escape for you. Come out. Surrender to the desire burning so fervently in your heart, and accept my kiss.”

  His face was turned toward the coach door, watching.

  It wasn’t long before it opened from within. The girl who stepped out into the falling rain looked to be about sixteen or seventeen years of age. She wore a frilly white blouse and a blue skirt that went down to her ankles. Rain bounced off her round-brimmed hat decorated with flowers. And just as Baron Hayden had suggested, she swooned before his pale countenance, far lovelier than her flowers or even the girl herself. She was as if mesmerized by his good looks—the mind of the pure girl controlled by lewd thoughts.

  Baron Hayden let a little smile escape, as if his work were a fait accompli.

  “Come,” he commanded.

  A flash of light exposed him on his white steed for a single instant. A long robe the color of darkness covered him to the knees, and if he were to dismount, it would undoubtedly conceal his boots of the same color as well.

  Annette walked up to him. Leaning over in the saddle, the baron cupped her face between his hands.

  “Though it’s a shame to drain the life from one so lovely, my hatred burns hotter than the flames of hell. Your death will no doubt plunge your father, your mother—your entire family into a boiling morass of grief. Such a sweet expectation.”

  He whispered those deadly words from a position so close their lips nearly touched.

  The girl let out a gasp. But was it a groan of fear, or an exhilarated moan?

  The baron turned his grinning face ever so slightly, preparing for that deadly kiss, and then—

  The baron spun around as if he’d been shot. It was toward the same road through the pass that’d brought him here that he turned. Perhaps seeing something through that weighty darkness, perhaps hearing something, he cocked a willow-thin eyebrow. There was no more laughter swimming in confidence.

  “They come. My compatriots are on their way. But before them comes a lone rider—oh, who could this be? Can you see him, child? My hands are trembling. My feet are riveted. My heart hammers madly. Tell me, if you will, what is this I feel? Is this the thing known as fear?”

  However, the baron’s eyes were wildly aglitter, and a pair of gleaming, sharp fangs poked from the corners of his mouth. His body swelled with enmity and the lust for battle.

  “I shan’t let anyone have you. Here and now, you shall receive my kiss.”

  And as he spoke, his deadly lips drew closer. The baron hadsupreme confidence in his abilities—and in the fact that the girl would let him do this without showing a whit of resistance.

  The heavens and earth were bleached white. The Nobleman’s handsome visage twisted in amazement. Annette backed away wildly. Her rain-slick face had returned to its senses—no, if anything, it was more feverish than ever with rapture.

  The baron realized the girl was looking over his shoulder at something. Now he had no choice but to turn.

  Again lightning flashed, revealing the sight to him. A stark image of a rider in black on a black steed about fifteen feet behind them. Beneath the wide-brimmed traveler’s hat, an exquisite visage was trained on him.

  “Who in the hell are you?” the Nobleman asked in a groan that reeked of defeat and despair.

  Rather than surprise at how the rider could draw so close without being detected by his superior Noble senses, it was humiliation the baron felt as those gorgeous features seared his body. For the traveler’s face, illuminated by the lightning, was ten thousand times more exquisite than his own.

  “Identify yourself. I should like to know your name. Your name, sir!”

  Though the baron bellowed like a madman, there was no reply. Almost as if it were a reminder of one of the laws of the Frontier—there was no need to give your name to those who didn’t give theirs.

  Suddenly, a different voice cried out. “This man is of the Xeno line. He said he’s Baron Nichol Hayden. And he came here to abduct me!” Annette shouted as her whole body went as limp as a wet doll.

  “If you’ll move, I’ll be on my way,” said a voice of steel struck by the rain. “I may make my living off the Nobility, but I’m not under contract to hunt this man.”

  “No . . .”

  As Annette stood rooted in astonishment, her ears caught the clopping of the approaching cyborg horse’s hooves in the mud. It was goi
ng to pass right by them.

  Two voices rang out at once.

  “You can’t . . .” Annette moaned dolefully.

  “Hold,” the baron groaned in a voice mad with resentment.

  The rider in black didn’t halt his steed but rather rode on. He was almost to the point where the road began its descent.

  “Hold,” the baron groaned once more, gnashing his teeth. “My name is Baron Nichol Hayden of the same Xeno clan the Sacred Ancestor honored with control of the southern Frontier wards. I shall not allow you to leave. No, this is unforgivable. No man should be more gorgeous than me.” After drawing a breath, he continued, “Such beauty. You will not always be counted among humans. Tell me your name.”

  A flash of light lit the world like midday. Lit the rider.

  Annette swooned. Even the rage-twisted Baron Hayden lost himself in rapture for a moment. Though neither of them could see anything but the figure’s back, that in itself was enough to refresh the memory of his exquisite features.

  The figure in black rode away as easily as if he were on a peaceful lane.

  “I shan’t let you go!”

  With that spiteful declaration of war, the baron urged his horse forward. His obsession reduced the lashing rain to steam as he closed on the rider ahead of him. He covered thirty feet in a heartbeat.

  Lightning flashed. Annette saw a different gleam.

  The baron and his steed had passed the rider in black on his right, stopping in front of him and turning to face him. Rain bounced off the strange weapon in the baron’s right hand. Though its blade was more than a foot long, it was so thick it seemed it would easily slice even the body of an armored beast in half. If an ancient human had seen it, they might’ve found it resembled a Japanese pole arm called a naginata. The Noble had kept it hidden either beneath his robes or on one side of his saddle. It didn’t seem the sort of thing a mere mortal could wield with just one hand.

  Not moving a muscle in the saddle, the baron said, “Identify yourself.”

  “D.”

  At that same moment, the top half of the baron’s torso slid off at an angle and fell to the ground. Black blood fountained up, raining down on both the half still in the saddle and the one on the ground. Naturally, Annette hadn’t known that the Nobleman had been cut in two from the left base of his neck to his right hip in the instant he and the Hunter passed each other.

  The black horse and rider began to walk off. Only then did Annette notice the longsword the figure in black gripped in his right hand.