Vampire Hunter D Volume 18- Fortress of the Elder God Page 14

  “Didn’t they make you an offer, ma’am?”

  Mrs. Stow laughed easily.

  “Oh, yes, my husband was most persistent. But I don’t hate anyone, either.”

  “Looks like that saved us both, eh?”

  “Isn’t that the truth.”

  The two women hugged each other.

  Maria glared at the tentacle. Suddenly, it twitched violently, and then disappeared. Behind it, the exit became visible. From that exit, a pair of figures were now approaching them, one armed with a longsword and the other with crimson arrows of iron. The young man in the lead should’ve been dressed in black, but he was now stained vermilion.

  “D!”

  “They’re all yours,” D told Bierce tersely, walking by the women without another word.

  So good of you to come, O powerful one, the god said, its voice raining down on the Hunter. I won’t do anything to you. I wish to see whether or not you’re just like him.

  D’s body sailed through the air. Bounding just once off the tentacle, he rose up to the pinnacle of that black mountain and out of Maria’s sight. But just before he disappeared, Maria saw that he had his longsword raised high.

  What occurred then was very strange.

  The next second, Maria was standing on a desolate plain. In front of her stood D, poised with his blade driven into the ground. Turning, the woman saw Mrs. Stow and Bierce about ten feet behind her. She suddenly noticed something—the sun was high in the sky. From its position, it must’ve been nearly midday.

  D walked over to her. Before Maria could say anything, the Hunter told her, “Looks like it kept its promise.”

  “What?”

  “It transported us here. The highway runs right through this area. A bus should be along soon.”

  Far behind D, a strip of white ran without end across the reddish-brown earth.

  “What about that god thing?”

  “It disappeared.”

  While that was true enough, the Hunter’s reply was far from amiable.

  “Funny, the sky is kind of—”

  “That the god’s doing?” Bierce asked D.

  The handsome Hunter nodded his head.

  “Its death throes sped up the planet’s rotation.”

  Maria couldn’t speak. Finally, she managed to ask, “It looks like we were saved, thanks to you—but what are you doing out here?”

  There was no reply.

  Guess I should’ve known, the woman thought to herself.

  “Did the old man make you an offer?” D asked Maria.

  “Yeah, just once. I prettied the story up for Toto, but to be honest, if he’d asked me over and over, I’d have probably taken him up on it. Come to think of it, I wonder why he wasn’t more insistent.”

  Holding his fist out under her nose, D opened his fingers. He held a gold pendant.

  “A keepsake from the suckling.”

  His hand tilted to one side, and as the woman frantically caught the glittering treasure he dropped, she asked, “Why give it to me?”

  “The girl he was going to give it to was named Maria.”

  The woman didn’t know what to say.

  “Did the suckling make you an offer?”

  Maria shook her head. What was D trying to say? Did he know something?

  However, Maria quickly abandoned this train of thought. Whatever was done, was done. There was still a mountain of things she had to do.

  “Speaking of that, D,” Bierce said to the Hunter. The next words from his mouth were astounding: “I was made an offer, too.”

  Maria and Mrs. Stow backed away. Both were pale.

  “I was asked if I’d like to be even stronger than I’d been in my prime. I’m almost embarrassed to admit it. Go ahead and laugh. But since I’ve been given this opportunity, there is something I wanna try. Namely, I’d like to test myself against Vampire Hunter D. Will you indulge me?”

  D’s right hand went for the hilt of his sword.

  “I appreciate it. I’m gonna pull out all the stops.”

  Lowering his hips, Bierce poised himself to throw, each of his hands already gripping iron arrows in anticipation of the deadly moment of truth.

  Fifteen feet lay between them.

  As an overwhelming will to kill coalesced, Maria and Mrs. Stow could be heard calling out, “A bus!”

  D kicked off the ground. He raced toward his opponent like a gust of wind. In stark opposition to the light of day, he was a remnant of the exquisite darkness.

  Iron arrows flew to greet him. Not even bothering to bat them down, D pounced.

  At the zenith of his arc over the crimson streaks, D lurched. An arrow had pierced his left shoulder. Even D couldn’t dodge that arrow, which had been launched by the warrior’s god-given power.

  As soon as the Hunter touched back to earth, another arrow flew.

  Deflecting it, D hurled his sword like a throwing knife at the same moment. It pierced Bierce’s heart as he was poised to throw again, deciding their duel.

  “So, that’s the road that kid is on? D, I think I . . . got it easier.”

  Spitting a clot of blue blood from his mouth, the warrior slumped forward. Reddish-brown dust went up, covering his body.

  “He gave me some help, didn’t he?” D said once the dust had settled.

  Maria nodded, thinking about Toto slowly decaying somewhere.

  Just as Bierce had been about to release another volley of arrows with the power the god had given him, all four of them had experienced a shuddering terror. That was the thing little Toto kept hidden in his psyche. The fear he’d felt as an infant when his father had tried to get rid of him, the horror he’d felt as a child being beaten and unwanted. Maria and Mrs. Stow had fainted where they stood, while Bierce had been terrified. Only D had weathered it. And that had meant the difference between life and death.

  A horn honked. The bus that stopped by the side of the road was calling them.

  “D!” Maria called out. “I’m gonna look for that kid. I’m sure I’ll find him before my days are up.”

  “I think he’d like that,” D said, quietly returning his blade to its sheath.

  -

  Two days later.

  Three passengers got off at a long-distance bus terminal in the eastern Frontier. One was a young man so gorgeous people waiting for the bus nearly fainted, while the other two were a young woman and a distinguished older lady. The first two headed into the marketplace across from the terminal, while the old woman went over to wait for a different bus.

  As a traveler who was waiting for the same bus a short distance away looked on, an old man appeared out of nowhere and wrapped his arms around her from behind.

  Though it didn’t reach the traveler’s ears, their conversation was as follows:

  “I came to collect you, honey,” the old man whispered into her ear.

  “Ah, but there isn’t any place in particular I want to go,” the old woman said, looking rather beleaguered. “I really had hoped to keep traveling with those two.”

  “Liar. You took me up on my offer, didn’t you? Now, let’s go punish our ingrate sons.”

  “Unlike you, I don’t hate our children. Actually, I don’t hate anyone.” And then she added quite clearly, “Except for you, that is.”

  And as her husband turned, Mrs. Stow took the dagger D had given her for self-defense and plunged it into his chest.

  The old man’s eyes opened wide. Fangs spilled from the corners of his mouth—along with blue blood.

  “So, that’s it . . . It was me . . . that you hated?”

  “Yes, it was. You gave me cause enough, didn’t you? You might not remember, but I certainly could never forget. Not to worry, though. You won’t be going alone.”

  “Really? I appreciate that.”

  And saying this, the old man disappeared.

  The traveler saw the old woman’s back quaking. Perhaps she was crying. Before long, she turned around and, on noticing the traveler, bowed before turnin
g again and staring off at the marketplace. After doing that for quite some time, she took the dagger she’d been holding all along and drove it into her own chest.

  -

  END

  POSTSCRIPT

  -

  On rereading this book, I thought to myself, “This is Grand Hotel!” That film spawned a whole genre of movies where individuals from all walks of life assemble in a single place. Jan, Maria, the Stows, Bierce, Weizmann—all of these people are forced to examine their lives as they travel with D.

  At first, I thought of making this story simply about D. Questions about destiny or the pursuit of his humanity could wait until later. A sense of speed and intense action were going to be my first priority. But as the book came together, that’s not how it played out.

  Even if she hasn’t turned into a Noble, someone who’s been drained of blood is shunned by her fellow humans. Abandoned by parents and siblings or sometimes even marked for death by them, these individuals have an air of isolation. And then there are the fathomless depths of the pointlessness and grief of the Nobility—vampires who realize their mighty race is sliding toward destruction, yet still behave as if they were the rulers. As this is a novel rather than a comic or a movie, I just couldn’t pass up those emotions. Call them the theme, if you will. Needless to say, I could’ve just gone ahead with a straight action tale like I’d first intended. I guess you could say I was feeling righteous. (laughs) But I chose the latter.

  So while this evil god is being exterminated, the flavor of human drama among the characters is particularly strong. However, it’s difficult to weave that together with D’s actions. While he goes about his work as usual, the people around him are forced to reflect on their lives to the point where it pains them, and then they either overcome that pain or are destroyed by it. And when that happens, D must perform his duty whether he likes it or not, like a doctor. However, this physician doesn’t offer comprehensive treatment. He doesn’t even inquire as to what’s bothering his patients. Quietly he discharges his duty, leaving his charges to find their own road to recovery.

  Such is D’s story.

  -

  Hideyuki Kikuchi

  June 13, 2011

  while watching Let Me In

  FOUR OUTLAWS

  CHAPTER 1

  I

  If ever there was a peaceful day on the Frontier, today was such a day. There were none of the winds from the north that carried airborne monsters and evil spirits, so a drunk with a bottle of cheap liquor in hand could walk from one end of Main Street to the other without breaking a sweat. Children were out on the school field engrossed in a rather rough new game that was said to be all the rage in the Capital. The sheriff, having finished his patrol about ten minutes earlier, was completing his reports on a couple of recent crimes, while the owner of the general store sat in the corner of his currently customer-free shop eagerly envisioning the fire-lizard races that would soon be held in the neighboring village. On a day like this, it seemed that even a lone flesh-eating rat crossing the street would’ve been enough to throw the entire town into a tumult.

  Four cyborg horses halted in front of the Bossage Bank, and the riders dismounted, climbed the stairs, and disappeared through the doors. Their movements seemed well considered and rehearsed.

  The account of the late security guard Chad Mostow (as recounted by his medium-summoned ghost):

  It was right about noon, and I was musing over whether me or my partner Gazelle Hugo would break for lunch first. I was pretty distracted, so when they came in, it was Gazelle that noticed ’em first. They just plugged me right between the eyes so I didn’t see anything, but now I know what happened.

  As they came through the doors, they leveled their guns and opened up on me and Gazelle. All four of ’em had ladies’ stockings over their heads. I was hit by a shot from the repeating rifle a washed-up warrior named Zack Morrowbak carried, while Gazelle got it from a shotgun packed by another former warrior, who goes by the name of Scuda Corkly. I was taken out with just one shot, but even after taking a shotgun blast to the left side of his body, Gazelle returned fire on Scuda with his rifle, wrecking the outlaw’s right arm below the elbow before a third fella, Yuri Tataika, hit him with a shot from his crossbow. Now, since that bow had a fifty-horsepower motor drawing its string, it put an iron arrow right through Gazelle’s heart, killing him instantly. He’s right beside me now. And next to him is the six-year-old boy who caught the arrow that went through Gazelle in the neck—Peter, the baker’s son.

  After the four outlaws had taken us out, Zack and Scuda covered the customers while Yuri and the other one jumped the counter and slipped into the office, where the other one took his longsword and cut down the head cashier, Tomak Len—who’d just turned all of twenty—and ordered bank manager Tom Nolan to open the safe. It was only natural that the manager hesitated. He figured the sound of gunfire would have the town’s vigilance committee and the sheriff’s department running there on the double.

  And the outlaws must’ve known that, too. All of a sudden, the fourth one cut the heads off two tellers, Medelle Hisar and Matthew Nebresco. Both with the same swipe—that’s the kind of thing only a Noble or a dhampir could manage with a sword. The manager turned real pale and did like they said, then they grabbed the bags of money before taking the heads off Nolan and the rest of his staff—Matoya Pereslo and Jessica Nielsen. Now the lady teller, Jessica, she was a good ten feet from those other two, but again, they were all killed with the same stroke. Even though the fourth outlaw’s blade couldn’t have been more than three feet long.

  While all that was happening, the two in the lobby tied up the bus driver Concho Hardley, housewives Beatrice Lachauer and Sara Schon, and Peter’s mother Katie Dolsenen, but as soon as Yuri and the other one came back with the bags of money, they gunned them all down in cold blood and cleared out.

  I don’t know the fourth one’s name or anything about him. But even in my present state, he scares me. That fourth outlaw is possessed by something. And even though I’ve passed over to the other side, I still can’t begin to imagine what it is—but until you find out for sure what’s in him and destroy it, not even the best warrior will be able to slay him.

  Oh, I feel cold all of a sudden . . . Ah, so that’s what it is. The thing that’s possessing him knows that I’m testifying. Oh, no . . . it’s found me! That’s it for me. This is the end.

  Stay away! Don’t come near me! Ahhhhhhh!

  Click!

  Taking his finger from the button of an old-fashioned tape player, an old man with a gray beard to match his gray head of hair looked over the two people who’d joined him. This was a rather wealthy town where crops and livestock were traded, and considerable funds had been put into this lavish room, making it seem far from what one would expect to find in a simple Frontier town hall. The ceiling, walls, and floor were all literally covered by what could only be described as a gaudy collection of portraits and miniature paintings, and while this room had surely cost a great deal of money, when trying to hold a meeting or conference there it was difficult to relax for even a second, which left all the participants deathly tired.

  However, both the woman who was seated about six feet from the gray-haired old man and the man leaning back against the far wall seemed relaxed and totally unaffected by the spell of the room. Like the man against the wall, the woman in the chair wore armor crafted from the soft but resilient scales of the fire dragon—an item that made it clear at a glance that one was a warrior—and over her left shoulder she had a sword of ordinary length. More than its strength, the selling point of this armor was the way the scales were attached to allow freedom of movement. She had the kind of beauty that would leave not only men but even other women staring in awe, but a long, deep scar ran down her right cheek, lending her lovely features a fierce intensity. The woman’s form was free of earrings, necklaces, rings, or any other trinkets, and the only ornamentation on her armor, gloves, and leg protectors was cut
s and scorch marks.

  The man, by comparison, wore a navy-blue cape over a wine-red vest lavishly embroidered with silver and gold thread, and he had gold slacks on. In addition to a gold-handled dagger and some throwing knives, the heavily detailed combat belt around his waist also held a pair of bejeweled revolvers that looked more like works of art than practical weapons.

  That wasn’t to say he had lousy taste: it was the sort of style any warrior on the Frontier might wear to get people’s notice. Wearing this kind of outfit to get work was rather dignified compared to the warriors who put on a real act, going down the main street every time they came into a new town, gunning birds and flying beasties out of the sky with a pair of pistols, finding the town or village lowlife so they could pick a fight with him and kill him, then waiting for a big job to land in their lap—usually acting as a bodyguard or killing someone.

  You had to sell your skill at fighting—that’s all a warrior knew how to do, and your life could be heaven or hell depending on whether or not you caught the eye of the locals who called the shots. What warriors earned depended on their abilities and the strength and number of their opponents, but on average they were said to bring in about fifty dalas a day. Out on the Frontier, where one dala would buy a family of four a full-course dinner—with thunder beast or three-headed stag as the main dish—that was very good compensation, but it seemed fair for someone who was risking his life. Still, if he were to take part in something big—such as hunting down Nobility or taking on an immortal opponent—a warrior might be promised compensation on the order of hundreds of thousands, if not millions, of dalas, and that would serve him well in his life after retirement. It was little wonder that he might let his appearance become ostentatious, or his words and deeds exaggerated and overly theatrical.

  “After that, the outlaws fought their way through some townsfolk and escaped to where we’d like to send you—the Florence Highway, also known as Mercenary Road. That’s why I played that tape of the ghost’s testimony for you, even though that incident has nothing to do with this. It couldn’t hurt you to know that the mercenaries might not be your only foes out there.”