Yashakiden: The Demon Princess, Volume 3 Omnibus Edition

by Hideyuki Kikuchi

  “Help me—” Hitomi whispered. No other words came to mind. “Help me—”

  She backed away from the window and turned around. Ryuuki was standing not more than a foot behind her.

  “Ah—” A cry of fear and joy. Her heart could not decide which emotion to settle on. The next second, she forgot all about the accursed drum. She clung to him as if in a dream. “Thank God. You’re alive. Thank God.”

  His large hand touched her cheek. Hitomi wasn’t afraid anymore. She raised her head.

  “Stop—” said the voice above her, a voice filled with pathos. “Stop—Shuuran—I owe this person my life.”

  This person? Who was he referring to? She touched his rugged, sturdy chest, unconsciously feeling for the wound, stiff with congealed blood. What remained of the blood that had poured out of this vampire.

  The hairs stood up on the back of her neck. Hitomi looked up at him. His face was before her eyes. The pair of blood red opals reflected in her eyes. Far away, in the depths of her senses, Hitomi felt a stab of pain. But she had already forgotten what had caused it.

  For a long time, the body of the man and that of the woman fused together. And then the woman slumped slowly to the floor. The hand that had supported her now laid her out on the futon.

  A bite mark now marred Hitomi’s throat.

  “I will spare you the same fate as me. Forgive the man who can offer you so little in payment for your kindness.” He wiped his mouth and spoke in melancholy tones. The dust swirled around him. “Is this what we are doomed to become, Shuuran? To do as you beseeched me, to take the blood of our benefactors even at the cost of their blood?”

  Outside the window the drum rang out. Tan—

  Ryuuki was about to say something to Hitomi, but instead said, “Say a prayer, Shuuran. Are there no prayers in you? Neither are they in me. We do not even celebrate our rebirth into eternal life.”

  The face of this mighty man who had once driven the barbarians from the borderlands was colored by a sorrow that exceeded death. The sound of his voice was like coughing up blood. The blood he shed on behalf of others was never anything but.

  So once again his corrupt body must put on incorruption.

  The wind rattled the glass. Ryuuki’s expression shifted. “Ah,” he said in a faraway voice, “Princess calls.” The gray dust swirled. “I must go. She would not do so unless something unusual had happened. Perhaps she has met with Setsura. Or she wishes to mete out punishment. In which case, the sentence was delivered long ago. What, do you not understand? It is what it is. You have served her for two thousand years and yet do not understand her heart. However—”

  He bowed to Hitomi’s body and left the room. Somewhere a bird called. There was no one in the surrounding fields. Only the bright moonlight on the dark ground.

  Wrapped in demonic spirits, accompanied by Shuuran’s dust, Ryuuki set out for parts unknown.

  Chapter Three

  “This makes no sense. Nothing is adding up.”

  How many times had the walls of this dimly-lit room heard that refrain? But it was most appropriate to the situation. Here and there in the darkness were mutant human specimens—rows of narrow shelves crowded with dusty vials of medicinal compounds—a pair of metal rings rotating about each other with no evidence of any external energy source—what appeared to be a generator and electrical cables.

  The room was a cluttered museum collection of ancient knowledge.

  “Strange.”

  Kikiou shook his white beard. This was his laboratory. A ferocious tint filled the otherwise fatherly face.

  “You really don’t know?” he said, glaring at Yakou.

  Dressed in a three-piece suit, Yakou’s refined and commanding presence yielded not at all to this alchemist and wizard who had controlled ancient dynasties from the shadows.

  “Haven’t a clue,” he said with a curt shake of his head.

  The back and forth between the two concerned the location of Setsura.

  “Do not think you can hide anything from me,” Kikiou said pointedly.

  “Why would I have anything to hide?” Yakou answered coldly.

  Kikiou quickly abandoned that line of attack. “If you do not know,” he said, stroking his beard, “then who is covering for him?”

  “Why do you think there is a traitor in our midst? Setsura could have escaped your detection and hidden himself away somewhere.”

  “Exactly. He is made of flesh and blood.”

  Yakou didn’t contradict him.

  “He is a bad star. He absconded and secreted himself somewhere in this world. That possibility I have thoroughly thought through. But whatever he is planning, he cannot do it alone. He is lost in a dream.”

  “That again. The dream of the clam. But that giant clam may have finally awoken.”

  “No. I have seen with my own two eyes.” Kikiou pounded his right hand on the table. He had apparently resurrected the arm severed by Setsura’s devil wire earlier that day. “The dangers cannot be underestimated, which is why I never attempted to domesticate one. But three thousand years ago, I did make observations. No matter what the clam, once the dream has commenced, there is no waking for at least three days. I include myself and General Bey among the few who can break its spell. I would include your grandfather among them.”

  “Implying that I rescued Setsura from the dream?”

  “No. There is no telling how many aces that trickster carries up his sleeves, and pulling himself out of the dream is no mere feat. While in the dream, no one could lay a finger on him. So how to strike the balance?”

  Of course Kikiou did not trust Yakou. He had immediately placed a barrier across the portal to this world. Short of breaking through it, Setsura must be hiding out here.

  Except for the aforementioned reasons, his state of being was up in the air. While the dream-state Setsura’s devil wire rampage through the forest had ceased for the time being, it was just as likely that the clam’s dream had changed, not Setsura.

  But there was no way the nature of his dream-state couldn’t have been ascertained three hours on. Hence the basis of the conjecture that Yakou was somehow involved. He didn’t act on these suspicions perhaps on the fear that Yakou was aware that he had disobeyed Princess’s orders and tried to kill Setsura.

  And perhaps because Kikiou had developed a fondness for the young man. He was a direct descendant of the Elder, and so couldn’t claim a four-thousand-year lifespan. Nevertheless, as fellow lords and masters of the nighttime, whose lineage reached deep into the shadows of history, these were enemies Kikiou held in high regard.

  Now Yakou was the rightful Elder. And employing the same secret martial arts, had defeated Kikiou outright in direct combat. Now he was Princess’s servant. And though he occupied a position lower than himself, that was enough to give him the benefit of the doubt.

  “Sir Kikiou,” Yakou unexpectedly said.

  The powerful warlock frowned to himself. Perhaps thanks to the education the young vampire clan leader had received in Great Britain, there was an edge to that “sir” that seemed more ironic than polite.

  Yakou said, “I haven’t been here long enough to authoritatively analyze such tricks or methods. If they concern you that much, perhaps you should strengthen your defenses then?”

  “Already done. All exterior approaches are surrounded by barricades. A fly couldn’t make it through without a by-your-leave.”

  “What about the interior of the manor house?”

  “The same. All measures have been taken. If any unwanted visitor enters the premises, it will only be a matter of time before they are dragged before me.”

  Yakou intended sarcasm, but took a different tack. “But why run away in the first place? Perhaps he wanted to get the lay of the land before she returned?”

  Yakou sauntered to a corner of the room, noting out of the corner of his eyes that Kikiou reacted as if he’d bitten down on a sour pickle.

  What attracted his attention was a wat
er fountain. A human figure stood in the center of the brimming marble basin, approximately six feet wide, with metal rings in her hands. With jerky movements, she passed the rings through the rising column, resulting in a small spray of water.

  “What is it?” Yakou asked curiously. It didn’t strike him as a simple lawn ornament.

  “You want to know?” Kikiou said proudly.

  “Sure.”

  This warlock was not one to flee the limelight. He looked at the water fountain, definitely pleased with himself. “Hoh. The mouse has begun to move.”

  Yakou surmised that his words could only refer to the ring in her left hand. She reached out at an angle of thirty degrees to the position of her head, her arm and the ring parallel with the surface of the water.

  Just then, a stream of water split away from the fountain and leapt through the ring and splashed down into the basin.

  “Neat,” said Yakou, an honest expression of surprise.

  The falling water set off a series of ripples that merged and overlapped within the circumference defined by the ring. And therein, arose a different scene from that of the room reflected off the surface.

  “The garden in the back courtyard.”

  Kikiou didn’t have to say it for Yakou to know what it was—the sunlight shone down on the gorgeous array of dazzling flowers of all colors and kinds.

  The image appeared to come from the sky looking down. On the bank of a small lake was the Takako doppelganger, picking what looked like purple water lilies. Yakou was a bit taken aback, but quickly divined what was going on.

  “That’s one of your dolls. What in the world is she up to?”

  “I’m onto you now—” Kikiou growled to himself. The fierce look in his eyes reflected off the image in the water. “After she lured out Setsura, Setsura in turn lured her away from my influence. Stands to reason. After all, he is a handsome man, and he did save her life.”

  “And those flowers?”

  A terrible smile creased the old man’s lips. “It’s called the moon lily. A poisonous plant that grew in one country back during the Tang Dynasty. There is no way a girl like her could know anything about that. Obviously someone is pulling her strings. The question is to what ends—” Kikiou’s voice trailed off. “That suggests a little poison is in the offing. The question is whether he intends it for you or Princess?”

  “Setsura isn’t so stupid as to believe he could kill any of us with poison.”

  “It seems there are things about which the Elder’s grandson remains ignorant. You cannot die. However, the right poison can be quite effective. Depending on the circumstances, the risk of losing your eyesight becomes grave. A well-placed shot and your eyes would not regenerate. Setsura Aki knows his horticulture better than you.”

  Yakou sank into silence. Kikiou laughed in a manner that suggested a bluff called, and the bluff behind that one anticipated. “Well, how shall we proceed then? Is Setsura pulling her strings, or are we overreacting? In either case, I am the one who made her, so I should follow her wherever she goes. And where she goes Setsura will be waiting to douse us with poison. In that case, Princess would surely condone us meting out punishment where it was due. Ah, she is on her way.”

  Takako walked across the water fountain and disappeared into a corner of the “screen.”

  The doll’s stone hand again formed a screen on the water’s surface. Takako was hurrying down a hall.

  “Hoh. The maidservants’ wing. Of course, the bastard makes allies wherever he goes. Ah, this room, is it?”

  Takako disappeared into one of the many doors set into the walls of the long corridor. Kikiou got to his feet.

  “Wait—” said Yakou.

  Kikiou turned his back and stifled an evil grin. Yakou wasn’t trying to stop him because he was concerned for Setsura’s welfare. He was frightened of Kikiou defying Princess and killing Setsura.

  “What? I have a task for the young woman. That is all. Would you like to come along?”

  “Understood,” said Yakou with a nod.

  He actually hadn’t said one way or the other. Kikiou pretended to take the statement at face value. Covering for Setsura was sure to backfire, and having concocted a cover for his subsequent actions, Kikiou was determined to bring down Setsura. Far from stopping him, Yakou must play a part in it as well.

  Setsura thanked Takako for the two bouquets of purple flowers.

  “That’s okay. Just knowing I’ve been helpful.”

  “More than enough.”

  “Thank you.”

  Pretend Takako looked quietly at Setsura. A question seemed to linger in her eyes and Setsura addressed it without pretense. She got up from the chair.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Somewhere. I don’t know. I think I will continue to live as long as I stay in the manor house.”

  “Perhaps,” said the genie who had come to this world to destroy it.

  “Goodbye,” said Pretend Takako. She stood in the doorway. “Goodbye, you beautiful man.”

  Setsura raised his hand. And suddenly pulled it back. The invisible thread in his right hand turned Pretend Takako like a top, spinning her around in back of him.

  “What?”

  “I can sense Kikiou’s presence.”

  “Nobody followed me. I made sure.”

  “He must have access to a subterranean entranceway. Is the adjoining room the same as this one?”

  “No. It’s a storage room.”

  “Then you have nothing to feel guilty about.”

  “Eh?”

  The door creaked. Before Setsura could push over the table, a wooden tube flew into the room from the crack in the jamb. Small holes peppered its surface. The substances inside it combined with the oxygen in the room to produce a toxin that could knock out a whale.

  It only took a second to reach full saturation. And five seconds to dissipate. Six seconds later, the door opened. Kikiou and Yakou entered the room. Scanning the room, their attention was drawn to the wall on the left.

  “Of course,” Yakou said.

  The wall sported a perfectly round, smooth hole through which a human being could comfortably fit.

  “The adjoining room, eh? Go around through the hall.”

  Kikiou got out another tube. The volume of gas from the first wouldn’t have penetrated the other room with sufficient deadly force.

  Yakou left. The door of the next room over opened and Kikiou appeared, still holding the tube.

  “What’s up?” Yakou asked, masking the relief in his voice.

  The old man said in a disgusted voice, “They escaped through the ceiling.”

  Yakou looked up. “That’s Setsura for you. He could get a dead horse to gallop for him.”

  “You happy?”

  “What do you think?”

  “And what about this?” Kikiou turned away from Yakou, revealing a neat hole in the back of his head. “I took precautions, but the bastard wove a cat’s cradle with his devilish threads. Now are you happy?”

  Yakou exercised his right to keep silent.

  Kikiou’s eyes lit up. He wasn’t a vampire, but they were blood red. “You will never escape, Setsura Aki. I will not allow it.”

  The sound came not from his lips, but oozed eerily from the hole in his head. The accursed words that followed were weirdly appropriate to that second mouth. “This hole will fill in soon enough. There is something upstairs that not even that girl knows about.”

  To be continued.

  Original Volume III Afterword

  I wasn’t sure at first whether I should admit this, but my publicist gave me the go-ahead. It looks like the four-volume Yashakiden is going to reach at least five volumes.

  I started out as a writer wanting to be known more for novellas than epics (yes, I’ve long since thrown in the towel on that inclination). I felt back then that reading and writing long novels wasn’t my strong suit. The doujinshi series I wrote during my college days, if compiled into a single-volume no
vel, would barely reach 200 pages—and that was over four years!

  Consequently, even now, I have a hard time imagining the crowning achievement of my life’s work as an epic series of a hundred volumes—no, never say die! Make that a hundred fifty! It’s not so much the question of what I’d fill such great expanse of white with, but how I would write it all that I find hard to grasp.

  Simply thinking in terms of constructing plots, creating characters, and bringing things to a climax—trying to imagine what must be going on inside the head of a writer commencing on such a project makes me want to throw down my pen in despair.

  I find it equally difficult to imagine the sheer tenaciousness required to keep track of how the times and seasons change within the work, with what sort of alacrity the actors would step onto and exit the stage within the work, and how the governing idea would be maintained over a span of ten or twenty thousand pages.

  This isn’t the kind of thing any normal human being could pull off.

  Generally speaking, I can invest my body and soul in turning one story into three books. To date, I haven’t exceeded four. I have some ideas (the Alien Demon World series has currently reached four volumes), but for now, I’m spinning my wheels.

  When my magazine serialization editor told me, “There’s no way this can end after four volumes,” I blanched.

  “Don’t kid around like that. I’ll definitely end it.”

  “But you’ve written three volumes so far and have only offed one villain. The good guys have lost one main character—the Elder—and Yakou and Nuvenberg are still in one piece. Meanwhile, you’re adding more characters to the cast.”

  “Huh. When you put it that way, I guess so. I haven’t made use of Princess for a while. Breathing some life back into her would take at least another volume.”

  “And that’d make four, right? What about the rest of the cast? Setsura, Mephisto, Nuvenberg, Yakou, the Mayor, General Bey, Ryuuki, Kikiou, the supposedly dead Shuuran, the doll girl, the big crow, Yoshiko Toya, Takako Kanan—you can’t leave them all hanging. Hey, how about a fact-finding cruise to Hong Kong?”