Hunter of the Dead

by Stephen Kozeniewski

  She shook her head trying to form a picture of The Seer in her mind. She had been a beautiful maiden…hadn’t she? A sorceress who had looked to the entrails and chicken bones to tell what would come. A panic settled in The Executioner’s heart.

  She couldn’t recall her own name. She had meted out justice for the Emperor. “His own hand,” he had called her. A tall man, a fat man. What had his name been? Frustrated she moved to bury her head in her hands and was shocked to see that they had turned to bony claws. In horror she reached up to feel her face and found that she, too, had the aspect of a jawless lamprey.

  She turned, seething, and spun, as the other eleven approached her from their stations. She recognized each in turn, The Hermit, The Scholar, The Priest, without being able to recall a single name. They all had a single thought on their minds.

  Where is The Caretaker?

  Has he taken ill?

  Perhaps he’s been detained.

  We should give him twenty-four hours.

  Yes, it is early to panic.

  Perhaps we should seek him out.

  What if he’s been killed?

  What is the world like? Are we free to roam?

  I fear the worst.

  If the worst has come to pass, we must be prepared to take action.

  Their thoughts filled her head, jumbling, jangling, and straining against one another. She felt pulled in eleven different directions, as every strain of thought fought for prominence. Some were more panicked than others, but as they bickered and debated all began to grow agitated.

  Silence!

  The thousand competing thoughts receded away, and the others sat quietly, waiting for her words.

  If The Seer were here, she might tell us what has come to pass. But she is not. If The Caretaker were here, he might tell us what has kept him. But he is not. So we must act as though we have been left to our own devices. Which we have. So I wonder if the apocalypse The Seer foresaw has at last come to pass.

  And if it hasn’t?

  Then we shall bring it. Besides, I hunger. Let us feast.

  Two

  The night air was chilly and full of mysteries. The wind battered her hair, turning it into a manta ray fluttering on the jetstream. She had never been higher than the top floor of the Aztec before. Now, standing atop the very peak of the Stratosphere Tower, she felt like a god.

  The ball of her right foot was balanced precariously on the spike that terminated the dizzying height of the tower. Her left foot was in free fall. At first she had held her arms out for balance, but that had been a weakness, a mortal conceit. The muscles in the center of her foot were easily strong enough to maintain her balance, even if she were struck by something heavy. And the wind was making its best effort to topple her. It was exhilarating.

  “Ahoy, there!”

  She looked down. A few rungs below, on a tiny catwalk that seemed more designed for a suicide than a maintenance man, Otto Signari in his resplendent armor stood next to Topan.

  “Might I have word with the new matriarch of House Cicatrice?”

  She nodded. She raised her arms above her head in imitation of all the times she used to dive into the river back home. With only her foot to push off of a tiny spike, she flung herself up into the air, did three somersaults, and came down with a clang next to Signari.

  Upon seeing her countenance, Signari took a step back, nearly knocking into Topan, who stood on his other side. The catwalk was so narrow they couldn’t stand abreast.

  “Lily,” he gasped.

  “You like it?” she asked, having to remind herself not to finger the facepaint for fear of smudging it. With black paint she had cut out the lower right quadrant of her face, and then replaced the teeth and skullbones with white.

  “It’s…quite striking.”

  “She’s trying to psych you out. Typical Cicatrice bullshit,” Topan muttered.

  He wore a black armband embroidered with the red mark of Cicatrice, identical to her own. She wanted nothing more than to reach out and rip it off, along with the rest of his arm.

  “Psych me out? Come now, Topan, there are no opponents here to psych out. We’re just adults having a conversation about the future. Idi Han, I’d be lying if I said I truly mourned the loss of Cicatrice, the way you obviously do. We were often at odds. But I never failed to respect the man, and he was the greatest of us.”

  “I suppose that makes you the greatest of us left.”

  He nodded.

  “Your words, not mine. Nevertheless, you have my sincere condolences. Certainly he could have gone better than to a pack of Inquisition dogs. Better at my sword, at least.” He patted the pommel of his weapon. “There would have been honor in that. And you have my word House Signari will hunt down every one of those Inquisitors. It’s just a small matter, a gesture of goodwill, if you will.”

  Idi Han bowed her head.

  “Thank you. For your condolences. And your gesture.”

  “This is a magnificent meeting place you’ve chosen. It really is quite a view.”

  “You’ll forgive the impetuousness of inexperience, I hope, and as you said, I am in mourning, but I am in no special mood for pleasantries. If you don’t mind, we have some rather important business to discuss.”

  “Of course, of course. Would you prefer Cantonese?” he asked, switching over to her native tongue.

  She shook her head.

  “I’m in the New World now. In so many, many ways. Best I get used to it.”

  He nodded.

  “Well, there’s no arguing with that. Your disciples told me you were ready to surrender. So I take that to mean you understand where the council stands on the matter of Cicatrice’s rightful heir.”

  Signari reached out and clapped his gauntleted hand on Topan’s shoulder.

  “The boy here studied at the feet of the master for longer than most immortals living today have been alive. He has our full support. Now I understand this may be a bit…tricky, as Cicatrice had some harsh words for him in the end. But we’re not here to worry about old grudges. If I was here to worry about old grudges, there are five hundred corpses I could lay at your feet. No, we’re here to do what’s best for our kind. That means having a safe, secure House Cicatrice. And that means putting Topan back in charge.”

  Idi Han folded her arms and nodded. The wind caught hold of her hair and made it billow behind her like a veil.

  “And where would that leave me?”

  “Well, you are Topan’s get. There’s the issue of your illegitimacy. I’ve spoken to the council at length, and it took some doing, but considering how well-documented it was and witnessed by multiple immortals that Cicatrice accepted you as his own, we’re willing to consider you a full member in good standing of House Cicatrice. And after a probationary period of, let’s say, fifty years, we’ll restore your position as Topan’s full heir. It’s not good to have an illegitimate heir, but memories tend to fade and in half a century or so you’ll have your own reputation and it won’t matter so much.”

  “That’s very generous of you. So all I have to do is give up House Cicatrice and I get to go back to being Topan’s sex slave.”

  “Sex slave? You flatter yourself.”

  “Topan,” Signari said sharply, “Idi Han, let’s not bullshit one another, agreed? I’m well aware of your differences. Topan tries to downplay them. But I know him and I’ve got a good feel for you. So here’s what else I’ve got in mind for you. I personally am without a get at this particular juncture in history. There were a few good potential mortals I had been watching, but none had really jumped out at me.

  “So, knowing the gulf between you and your sire, I volunteered before the council to take on your training. That’s an offer only a House patriarch can make, and I made it for you. Fifty years, it’s a nice round number. I don’t like to keep my gets around for a century or two, that was more Cicatrice’s thing. Out of the nest and fly on your own as fast as possible, that’s my philosophy. I already know you’
re a fast learner.

  “I think in ten years, maybe twenty-five, I could give you my blessing. You could found your own circle, come fifty years from now the probation ends, you become an elder for your house in my seat in Rome and two, three hundred years from now I think you’ll be an even better House matriarch than either your sire or your grandsire was. I genuinely believe that.”

  She paused, and put her fist to her chin.

  “An interesting proposal. Topan gets the House and I don’t have to go back to him?”

  Topan growled.

  “Quiet,” Signari said, striking him in the chest, “Yes, that’s right. It’ll all be legal.”

  “But the thing is I’m already matriarch of House Cicatrice. The elders even recognize me. Cicatrice’s will was quite explicit.”

  “Is it really a responsibility you want to take on? You haven’t even learned to drink blood yet. Two, three hundred years, absolutely, I see a great future for you as one of the greatest House matriarchs of all time. But right now? You still have to learn how to be an immortal, girl. Don’t put that level of stress on yourself.”

  “Perhaps you’re right. I get confused sometimes just dealing with Cicatrice’s circle.”

  Signari held out his hands palm upward and shrugged, a ridiculous gesture from a man so armored, accompanied by an equally ridiculous duck-faced expression.

  “There, you see. Circles are tricky to manage. Damn tricky. All you need is time and experience.”

  Idi Han smiled, and feeling the paint on her face, wondered how it was distending with her grin.

  “For instance, would you believe a coup was possible from within your own circle?”

  “It’s been known to happen.”

  “They just tried to kill me, my disciples. Well, Cicatrice’s. Well…really, Topan was the head of circle for a while.”

  Signari’s smiling, overly avuncular expression disappeared. Without his teeth showing, the very vicious look behind his eyes was obvious.

  “That’s a terrible thing to hear. Under my tutelage, I would teach you how to spot rebellious disciples before they ever became a problem.”

  “And would you teach me how to spot betrayal from my own heir? My own senior elder, my own most beloved get? I know you’re not dumb, Signari, and I know you’ve been at odds with Cicatrice since before the concept of Great Houses had been invented. And I also know that since the day Topan orchestrated a ceasefire with the Inquisitors, House Cicatrice has stood head, shoulders, and belly over all twelve of the other Houses combined. House Signari likes to act like it’s Pepsi to Cicatrice’s Coke, but the truth is it’s more like RC Cola.”

  “Maybe you can just stop beating around the bush and tell me what you’re getting at,” Signari said, placing his hand surreptitiously on the pommel of his blade.

  “You decided to go toe-to-toe with House Cicatrice all of a sudden? When you’ve been terrified to for seventy years? Most people would ask why, but most people would already know. No, I’m afraid I won’t turn my House over to Topan, because Topan is more Signari than Cicatrice. He’s your lapdog, your clown, your puppet, your Manchukuo. You decided you could take on House Cicatrice because you had a mole. I talked to Hedrox, Topan. I tortured every last bit of the plan out of her. You were behind it all. Sending Cicatrice to his doom. At the hands of Inquisitors. As long as you were planning it, you could have let Signari here wet his blade, like he so gravely desires.”

  “Watch it, little girl. I am patriarch of a Great House.”

  “As am I, Signari, and I know now why Cicatrice held you in such contempt. You are beneath contempt. You act as though you’re a warrior, but you wouldn’t know what to do in a straight fight. You’re a conniver, a sneak, a thief.”

  Signari wrapped his hand around the pommel of his sword and secured his scabbard with his offhand.

  “Otto,” Topan said, “don’t lose your temper. Remember how important she is to me. I mean, to our plans.”

  Signari slammed his elbow backwards into Topan’s gut, shattering the other man’s spine and doubling him over.

  “Shut up, you sniveling Cicatrice dog. I’ve had to hold my nose and treat with you, but I’ll be goddamned if I’ll let you take liberties with me. And as for you, you tiny bitch…”

  Idi Han held up her hands, as if surrendering.

  “Patriarch, you’re overreacting. I’m just proposing a slight alteration in terms.”

  Signari narrowed his eyes warily but didn’t take his hands off his weapon. Slowly Topan rose and stalked off as far as he could possibly get from them on the narrow catwalk, sulking like a beaten cur.

  “What sort of alterations?”

  “What if, instead of all that stuff you said, I just released The Damned and let them have their way with this city?”

  A low chuckle grumbled in Signari’s throat before erupting as a full-throating bellow.

  “The Damned. First The Hunter of the Dead and now The Damned. It’s like I’m finally getting to meet every immortal legend all on the same night.”

  “You don’t think they’re real?”

  “I know for a fact they’re not. The same way Scar always passed around that story about his mysterious death-dealing foe. To keep us in line. Yes, he developed the nuclear option five hundred years before mankind split the atom. The Damned. I’ll believe it when I…”

  Suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, Signari spotted the shadow figures on the ground. From up here the people looked like ants. But amongst them, twelve spiders leapt and crawled and slashed and slaughtered their prey. Signari hurried to the railing of the catwalk and stared down in horror.

  “They can’t be real. What am I seeing?”

  “The last full measure of devotion. My final tribute to Cicatrice. I did what he could never do. Released the monsters of a bygone era onto the modern world.”

  Topan joined him and stared down. With both their backs to her, Idi Han slammed the back of her fist into Signari’s lower back. She felt his spine shatter and the solid metal railing distend and finally break as Signari fell through it, tumbling from the tower. She turned on Topan.

  “Sire,” she said, with a curtsey.

  Topan smiled.

  “Come now, little one…”

  “Don’t call me that.”

  He held up his hands as though surrendering.

  “Idi Han. I’m sorry. It’s a good name, an excellent choice. Powerful. Seductive. Just like you.”

  She dropped to a crouch, pawing at the catwalk with her feet, preparing to leap and destroy him in a single stroke.

  “You’re going to suffer a fate worse than death, Topan.”

  “Now, now, be reasonable, Idi Han. With Cicatrice out of the way, we have a chance to pave our own futures.”

  “I’m not going to punish you because of what you did to Cicatrice.”

  “No?”

  She shook her head.

  “That was between you two. I’m going to punish you because of what you did to me.”

  A piercing roar cut through the air and Idi Han whirled around to see a flash of metal and fur arcing in a parabola from the ground. Signari, his armor dented and smashed from his collision with the ground, his sword flashing in the moonlight and twinkling in the starlight, brought it swinging towards her neck.

  Signari was fast, and if he had remained silent perhaps she would have missed his return leap and been decapitated. But his battlecry had afforded her just barely enough time to leap out of her crouch. The sword passed through her midsection, severing her spine, heart, and the top of her ribcage from the bottom. A powerful blow, by any measure.

  She felt her bones and ligaments rebonding even as he raised the sword for a backswing. She watched, her senses so acute that the world seemed to move at a snail’s pace. Signari’s mouth was frothing with foam, his eyes glimmering with anger, and he was shouting some unholy cry. The metal of the catwalk was dented from the impact of his sabatons.

  In a strange sense, despi
te her urgency, time seemed to move interminably slow as he returned his sword across the same arc that had passed through her, this time aiming slightly higher for her neck. It would strike. There was no avoiding that now. She had only one chance.

  She reached out and grabbed his wrist with both hands, but didn’t arrest his swing. She could feel her shoulders and head dangerously shifting on her torso. Her body would need only a few seconds to repair itself, but until then the outcome was uncertain. She didn’t want to be left without a torso and legs, desperately scrabbling to defeat the Signari House patriarch.

  She gritted her teeth, rubbing them against each other like sandpaper as they pulverized top and bottom to powder. There was no more waiting. She could tell his swing had reached its point of no return. It was either move now or be decapitated.

  Feeling as though her shoulder and head were about to pop off from the strain, she threw off his swing with a sickening wrench. Signari’s sword arm ripped out of the socket and went flying off into the night from the exertion. As she had feared, her freshly cloven body slipped apart from the effort. She found her head and shoulders facing right, while her torso and legs below her still pointed forward, the two parts at nearly perpendicular odds.

  “Tiny bitch,” Signari murmured, wondering at his missing arm.

  He stepped forward, slightly off balance, apparently trying to swipe her top half from the tower. Arms akimbo, she grabbed her belly and back and straightened herself out. The flesh was almost smarter than she was, and though she had righted herself slightly off, as it healed, her two halves pulled themselves into alignment.

  “I’ve had that sword for eight hundred years. If it’s lost, there will be consequences.”

  “Your entire arm is missing and all you’re worried about is your big swinging dick…I mean sword? You really are the Otto Signari Cicatrice told me about.”

  He chuckled, his affected mirth back on display for just an instant.

  “And you really are a Cicatrice. All talk. No action. All bravado. No substance. You know, a lot of people think that living forever is the greatest thing that could possibly ever happen to them. Something they rarely dwell on is that living forever means you can be tortured forever. I have all kinds of places set up just for punishing upstart immortals like you. Do you have any idea what the punishment for laying hands on a House Patriarch is?”