Iriya the Berserker Read online

  The world was sealed in darkness. Eyes trained on its depths, the gorgeous and motionless young man looked as if he were pursuing some eternally elusive truth, like a statue that would muse until the end of time. Who could express how vain it was?

  As Iriya watched him in silence, she heard a faint yawn beside her.

  “Good night. Sleeping quarters for humans are at the end of the hall.”

  Meeker got out of his chair and went over to the door. “Carp,” he said, raising one hand. Most likely that was a farewell phrase from his hometown.

  Though Coeverlan was a fishing community, it wasn’t one of those seaside villages that always smelled of the tides. It was located in the lake region that spread across the northwest section of the Frontier. There they caught freshwater fish that rivaled those of the sea in their quantity, variety, strangeness, and danger. Meeker’s family probably also ventured out onto the lake in ships, selling the fish they caught in the Capital or in nearby cities and towns.

  “Carp,” Iriya replied, and as soon as she’d spoken, the diminutive form disappeared through the doorway, and the door shut.

  After a spell of silence, Iriya said, “Would you mind if I talked about myself?”

  “Where the hell is this going?” the hoarse voice said, its remark directed at D.

  “Suit yourself. It doesn’t matter either way to me.”

  D’s reply was directed at Iriya.

  “It’s kind of strange. I can’t believe it . . . This is the first time I’ve felt like doing this. Maybe it’s because you’re the one they call D?”

  Outside the window, the world was bleached white. The lightning burned itself into Iriya’s eyes.

  “You had a kid brother, didn’t you?” the hoarse voice inquired. Although it was swiftly silenced with a cry, Iriya’s far-off gaze never left D as she continued to spin her tale.

  Her life, she said, could be divided into everything before age nine and everything after. Into heaven and hell. Her father, the huntsman; her mother, the housekeeper; her older brothers, Yan and Shezk; her older sister, Gia; her younger brothers, Pol and Chulos; and her younger sister, Maggie—nine of them all told had lived in the village of Paccilin in a valley in the eastern Frontier, where they passed their days together in peaceful poverty. Shadows were stronger than light in the valley, and the wind that blustered across the cold surface of the river glittered with white. There, in a house on the outskirts of the village, her mother awaited her father’s return, baking heavenly sweetened bread from her rations of flour and sugar. Iriya’s three brothers were charged with butchering the game her father took. The oldest boy kept aside the most nutritious parts for their parents, but he always saw to it that the littlest ones got the tastiest cuts of meat.

  There was one thing the whole family looked forward to on summer evenings: Gia would sing traditional Frontier songs to the accompaniment of Shezk’s guitar. Villagers who’d heard about this would come too, and before long they were asked to give a performance in the village square, after which a man in the audience suggested they perform in the Capital. He was a researcher from the Capital collecting information on Frontier songs. Gia was open to the idea, but Shezk wished to remain at home. Gia left home that fall, at the age of fifteen. It was about two weeks later that they received word that her party had been attacked by bandits on the way to the Capital. The fiery attack had reduced the carriage to ashes. Iriya believed it was that event that gave rise to her parents’ silence.

  And then one day in late autumn, when all the gorgeously colored trees stood against the shadows and the night was filled with the golden scents of the aging kegs of plum and apple spirits in the basement, they had come.

  “They were dressed in pitch black . . . They knocked at our door. . . I thought, Who could it be this late at night? . . .”

  Iriya’s voice began to crack, and she stopped.

  “And then . . .”

  There was a short pause.

  “And then . . .”

  D remained looking out the window.

  “And then . . .”

  Lightning flashed once more beyond the window. It was followed by the next sound from Iriya—a scream. There was something in it that was enough to make even D turn around. His right hand went for his longsword.

  III

  That awful scream seemed to trail on forever. Both her hands were over her mouth, and she looked out through bloodshot eyes full of madness. Slowly her hands came away again. Perhaps some sort of weird aura radiated from her form, because D’s right hand still gripped his sword’s hilt.

  “No . . .” Iriya’s voice was like that of a withered crone.

  She backed away. Her movements suggested there was something right in front of her she needed to escape.

  “The door was shut . . . How did you get in here? Who are you? What are you?”

  “She’s slipped back into the past!” the hoarse voice said from the vicinity of D’s left hand. “She’s reliving that night. Stay back. The Nobles’ structure is responding to the girl’s emotions. Do yousee it?”

  D nodded. He’d discerned the overlapping figures in black that stood less than a foot in front of him.

  “Well, what do you know! I recognize some of ’em,” said the hoarse voice. “The second from the right—that’s a Noble by the name of Langlan. He had a courteous nature, and his reputation with those in his domain wasn’t bad, but that was the word seven or eight millennia ago. Wouldn’t have expected to see him throwing in with this lot. The others are Viscount Albidozen, Count Zegreib, and two I don’t know.”

  The man at the forefront closed his hand tight around Iriya’s throat. The illusion threatened to become reality.

  “Keep away from me!” Iriya cried, her right hand darting to her hip before a stark flash mowed through the torso of a figure in black.

  Reality threatened the illusion, as well. The attacker faded away.

  At that same instant, Iriya turned toward D. There was definite madness in her bloodless face, and her burning eyes fired boundless animosity at the young man called D.

  “There it is,” the hoarse voice said with apparent satisfaction. “There’s the face of a Hunter. Are you gonna give her a fight? If not, there’ll be no stopping her!”

  Though the Huntress stepped forward, D didn’t go anywhere.

  “Aren’t you gonna move?” the hoarse voice inquired.

  “You, too.” Iriya raised her sword by the side of her head. “Die!”

  Her stance was flawless. Energy radiated up from the earth through the soles of her shoes, traveling straight up her spine from her waist, racing to her shoulders, elbows, and wrists. The blade of her sword channeled it.

  Beyond her wide arc, a smaller silvery one was sharply executed. Iriya’s blade was effortlessly deflected.

  “Look at me,” said the hoarse voice.

  Iriya’s eyes turned toward the Hunter’s left hand.

  “No! The face—his face.”

  Ripples of rapture spread through Iriya’s countenance.

  Taking a step forward, D planted his left hand on the nape of her neck. Swiftly catching her as she collapsed, he tossed her onto the sofa.

  “Couldn’t you be a little gentler with her? She only drew on you because she was out of her mind!”

  “Anyone else she would’ve killed,” D said.

  “That’s—well, that’s true, actually. Didn’t seem like a woman’s blow in the least. I can say with pretty much total confidence there’s no way she could’ve got that way through any amount of training. That said, it doesn’t look like the girl’s undergone any kind of upgrades for Hunting, either. That leaves what—hypnosis? If you were only average to start, that couldn’t possibly give you superhuman skill!”

  “If you’re so concerned about it, try asking her.”

  Holding his left hand out in front of him, D once again went for his scabbard with the right.

  “W-wait a second!” The palm of his left hand turned to D, sal
iva flying from the flustered mouth that took indistinct shape in it.

  The storm broke around dawn. As the morning sun rose in the east, the white steam above the drenched plains gave the air a comfortable humidity.

  They left the dome in the early morning, and the steam had faded by the time they spotted a battered guidepost. McCrory 20 Miles, it read.

  “It won’t even take us an hour,” Iriya said encouragingly to Meeker, who was seated right behind her on the steed.

  The boy nodded, then looked down.

  “We’ll see you safely that far. Don’t worry.”

  There was no reply. After the horse had gone five or six paces, the boy said flatly, “I don’t wanna go.”

  “What?”

  “My uncle’s my father’s younger brother, but they didn’t like each other. Heck, the only reason he was taking me in was because my father left me a little money. Until the people from the orphanage told him that, he didn’t want me.”

  “And you don’t have any of the money?”

  “Nadja ran off with all of it.”

  “That’s awful!” Iriya said, crinkling her lovely brow.

  She knew that having lost the only thing of value he’d possessed, the boy would be branded a burden, and she could well imagine how he’d be treated.

  “What does your uncle do for work?”

  “He’s the mayor.”

  “Seriously?”

  “The mayor of McCrory.”

  “And yet he was refusing to take you in?”

  Though there were plenty of things Iriya wanted to say, she stopped herself. Even though she was on his side, she knew anything she’d say would wound Meeker.

  “Everyone except family is dead weight. And when it comes right down to it, killing family’s not a problem either.”

  Iriya shut her eyes. To her right, there was an oddly amused chuckle from D’s left hand.

  “Even at his age, he’s seen nothing but trouble. Should grow up to be quite a realist.”

  “Didn’t your family get along all right?” Iriya said to change the topic.

  “Not really,” he said to the warrior woman, who was looking up at the heavens. “My father was in charge of the village treasury, and he and my mother didn’t see eye to eye. They fought a lot. My mother even shot him with a gun!”

  “Sounds like a million laughs.”

  “But everybody said that was to be expected. Since she was from the Capital, she should’ve known from the start she wasn’t cut out for living way off in a little Frontier village, they said. I think so, too. After all, whenever she had any spare time, my mother would sit by the window and sing songs from the Capital.”

  Iriya let out a sigh, taking care that the boy wouldn’t notice.

  What did Meeker make of his mother, who had no escape from reality but her songs? How did he feel when he heard her singing?

  “So, your mother—”

  The boy started speaking, cutting off Iriya.

  “She took the village’s money and ran off. When I went to bring my father his lunch, there was no one in the room, but the strongbox had been left sitting on his desk. An official who came to my father’s funeral told me about it. I haven’t seen my mother since.”

  “Do you hate her?”

  “Not at all.”

  Out of the corner of his eye, D saw the little head shake from side to side.

  “She wasn’t cut out for that. She was more suited to the automated houses of the Capital and silk dresses and the fine food of expensive restaurants where the staff waited on you hand and foot—not keeping house in a deep forest where the sun never shines or by the lakes where the water beasts live, wearing heavy clothes and working in the fields till her hands were callused. We only get one life to live, right? So it’s clearly right to live in the world that suits you best. My mother made a mistake. She was wrong to marry my father and go back to a village on the Frontier, and she was wrong to have me. And the sooner mistakes can be corrected, the better.”

  For a while, Iriya fell silent. “A mistake, eh?” she murmured after a moment. “I think there’s only one mistake your mother made.”

  “Oh?”

  “Leaving a kid like you behind.”

  Meeker laughed sadly. “That’s nice of you to say. I like you, lady. But—”

  “We have to put ourselves in her shoes?”

  “That’s right.”

  “You must take after your father, I’m sure.”

  Iriya reached one arm back and patted the boy on the head. Immediately bringing it back again, she trained a trenchant gaze ahead. “D, you see that, don’t you?”

  “It’s a stagecoach,” D replied.

  Squinting her eyes, Iriya said, “It doesn’t have a driver. No one’s riding shotgun, either.”

  “Wait here.”

  As he spoke, D nudged his steed’s flanks. Quickly closing on the coach, he seized the reins and stopped the team of four cyborg horses drawing it. Quickly, he opened the door.

  Seeing that he was looking in her direction, Iriya advanced on her horse. Pulling up alongside D, she peered in through the open doorway. The seats were empty.

  “There’s no one inside! They weren’t attacked, either—there’s no sign anybody was onboard.”

  “The horses somehow ran off with the coach.”

  “Without anybody noticing? Hardly seems likely, does it?”

  Stagecoaches would usually stop for about an hour for feeding and maintenance of the team—ninety-nine percent of which involved work on their legs—at specialized factories in town, as well as to allow the passengers time for a break and a meal. When the passengers were staying for the night, their departure would be put off until the following morning.

  Aside from the Nobility’s teleporters and Mach cars, the predominant means of transportation on the Frontier was cyborg horses. There were more than a few cars powered by steam, gasoline, or other fuels, but in terms of range, performance, and dependability, they couldn’t compare to cyborg horses. As a result, horse maintenance was of the utmost importance. Large towns, of course, had factories for upgrading, inspecting, and repairing cyborg horses, while in smaller towns someone could be hired to do repairs, but the purchase of a new steed would usually entail paying a price far beyond legal guidelines. If, while out in the wilderness, someone should meet with an unexpected misfortune that killed their steed, they would have little choice but to walk however many hundreds of miles to their destination. The chance of running into a horse trader roaming the Frontier in search of such travelers was less than one in a hundred.

  A full team of four horses with a coach attached didn’t just run out of any town where people were thinking straight.

  “Something’s happened in McCrory!” Iriya said, training an even sharper gaze forward.

  “I’ll go on ahead. You two wait here. Don’t go near the town.”

  As D wheeled his steed around, Iriya protested, “No way. I want—”

  D was already galloping away, but his left hand was pointed in her direction. On noticing what his finger indicated, Iriya stopped her right foot from prodding her horse’s flank.

  It was Meeker.

  As her eyes followed the black-clad figure of beauty rapidly dwindling in the distance, Iriya muttered to herself, “Are you cold blooded? Warm? I just can’t tell.”

  Pursuers

  chapter 3

  I

  The manner of barring the main entrance varied in each town and village, but in McCrory it was a palisade of thick tree trunks sunk side by side. The gates could slide back to the fence on either side, and D turned to the one on the right and pushed it in, entering the opening it left in the great palisade around the town.

  Once through the gate, he commanded an excellent view of the main street and the homes lining either side of it.

  “No smell of blood—that’s odd,” the Hunter’s left hand murmured as it gripped the reins. It sounded as if it would’ve had its head cocked to one side.


  “Of course, there’s no signs of anyone either,” said D. Beneath the black brim of his traveler’s hat, his eyes held a quiet gleam.

  His horse didn’t halt. On encountering a weird situation, it was normal people who felt an urge to kill. Once through the entrance, the horse and rider started down the main thoroughfare, swaddled in stark sunlight. Not a single soul was on the street, and the Hunter rode without so much as a glance at the rows of houses to either side, his steed not stopping until they were in front of a saloon. Dismounting, D tethered the horse’s reins to a post.

  “No one’s here!” the hoarse voice was heard to say once the Hunter had pushed open the door.

  The quiet interior of the establishment bore out the hoarse voice’s words. However—

  “There were people here about an hour ago,” the hoarse voice continued. “There’s nicotine and alcohol in the air.”

  D looked down at an ashtray on the table. A cigarette had fallen from it, burning the table and leaving a long strip of ash in its shape. Most of the tables had glasses and cards on them, though a few had been overturned, spilling their contents. Following the path of the disturbance, the Hunter saw a broken glass on the floor and a half-dried puddle of alcohol.

  “There’s half a steak here, with a piece of it still stuck on the fork. In other words, something happened just as they were taking a bite. Something that made ’em drop their glasses and cigarettes.”

  D twisted around to face the door. That was the direction most of the chairs pulled away from the tables faced. The patrons had pushed their chairs back and risen to face whatever had come through the door.

  “There’s no smell of gunpowder. Somebody might’ve drawn a sword, but it looks like most of them accepted their fate without doing a thing,” said the hoarse voice.

  D went over to the bar and looked behind the counter. A double-barreled shotgun still sat in the customary place. It appeared the bartender hadn’t even had time to go for the weapon.

  “What came in?”