Danae gazed at Meg with an intrigued look in his eyes, and it didn’t waver when he said, “There is one way.”
“What’s that?”
“I want you to let me drink your blood.”
Meg—and the very air—froze.
As the girl stood there dumbfounded and paralyzed, in her place d’Argent shouted, “Like hell! Don’t listen to him!”
Of course, from the very start Meg had no intention of doing that. But something about Danae’s gaze piqued her interest. His request hadn’t been made in jest. He was completely sincere, and seemed to be searching for something.
“Just what do you mean by that? Did you actually think I’d agree to that?”
“I wouldn’t drink the blood directly from your body. If you were to merely nick the tip of your finger and let a drop or two fall into my mouth, you wouldn’t become my servant.”
“Don’t do it. It’s obvious he’s lying. If a Noble drinks your blood . . .”
Meg nodded. D’Argent was right. Though she’d never actually seen it take place, she could well imagine what happened when you let one of the Nobility drink your blood, no matter what stipulations might’ve been made. Anyone who’d agree to that request would have to be out of their mind.
“Will you swear on the honor of the Nobility not to do anything to us?” she asked. “If you will—then okay.”
“I swear it.”
“Meg?!”
“Not another word out of you. I must be out of my mind.”
Drawing her knife, Meg made a small slice at the tip of her left index finger. A bead of blood rose on it.
“I’m gonna shake it from here, okay?”
“Of course.”
Aiming for the mouth of the undead who was at death’s door, Meg shook her hand. She couldn’t tell whether she’d managed to get it in or not. However, before she could draw another breath, Danae got to his feet. The malicious smile that spread across his face made the girl freeze with horrid regret. On seeing that, the venom faded from Danae’s smile.
“What?”
“Be at ease. I made a promise to myself. In repayment for this—ah yes, I shall guide you to the castle.”
“Really?! Yes!” Meg exclaimed, blinking time and again. Her head was swimming. Apparently that was what happened when a person was that relieved. “That’s great. But that vehicle can’t carry three people. What’ll we do?”
Danae’s eyes turned toward d’Argent.
“We have no need of this incompetent.”
“To hell with you. I came out here because I was worried about her. And you call yourself a Nobleman! You might’ve pulled the wool over the girl’s eyes, but you don’t fool me!”
D’Argent slipped his hand into the backpack, which he’d set down on the ground. What he pulled out glinted with the dappled sunlight.
“Don’t!” Meg shouted, and she was about to try to stop him, but she halted when the barrel of the weapon turned her way.
It was the same “hand of destruction” that’d made human-headed beetles disappear in the blink of an eye.
“I’ve heard that so long as a Noble doesn’t get a stake or blade through the heart, he can be burnt down to ashes and still regenerate,” d’Argent remarked. “Only, it takes time to come back. And while that’s happening, I’ll pop your half-formed heart.”
“Do you think you can make it to the castle without me?”
“Yeah, I think so. Hell, that was what we intended from the start. Just so you know, thanks to the experiments you folks did on me, I don’t age anymore. So I’m not afraid of anything now.”
A sneer skimmed across the Nobleman’s lips.
“You seem to be confusing immortality with indestructibility. Simply because you don’t age, it doesn’t follow that you cannot die.”
Danae’s eyes gave off a red light. It formed twin beams that pierced D’Argent’s shoulders. The immortal reeled backward with a scream, his shoulders issuing flames and black smoke.
“You stop it, too!” Meg cried, standing between the two of them with her hands extended. “You know what happens when a human fights a Noble. So stop bullying those weaker than you!”
“This man made an attempt on my life when I was injured—however, I shall respect the wishes of my savior.”
Danae’s cape whipped around. He had started over to the vehicle on foot.
“What about him?” the girl asked.
“I believe you said there wasn’t room for three people,” the Nobleman replied.
“In that case, go by yourself. I won’t be going, either.”
Gazing at Meg with eyes so cold she thought her blood would freeze solid, Danae said, “You would protect us both, then? A fellow human might praise you for your philanthropy, but I would call it being noncommittal and ineffectual. You cannot use a knife or fork when you have a bouquet of flowers in either hand!”
“Your kind doesn’t need them anyway, do they? Not since you’re a bloodsucking monster, right?”
Damn my big mouth, the girl thought, but it was too late. Danae’s eyes glowed red. In an instant, Meg prepared to meet her fate from the hateful beams. However, the deadly light wasn’t unleashed, and Danae’s eyes quickly returned to normal.
“You’re strong-willed for a human girl. But this is the last time I shall feel any obligation to you. If you can carry him on your back, the man may accompany us.”
“Just you leave it to me.”
Meg raced over to d’Argent, who was down on his knees in agony. She whispered in his ear, “So, how much do you weigh?”
“Not really sure . . . A little over one hundred twenty pounds . . . probably.”
“In that case, I think I’ll manage.”
Back in the village, she’d carried crates of fish weighing one hundred thirty or even one hundred fifty pounds.
With grunts and groans and no small effort she managed to get d’Argent on her back and stand behind the Nobleman as he held the vehicle’s control stick.
“What are you doing?” Danae said to her.
“Huh?”
“Wrap your arms around my waist,”
“Er, sure,” Meg said, complying sheepishly.
Her left wrist struck something hard.
“Does that intrigue you?” the Nobleman inquired in an amused tone.
“Yes.”
The scenery began slowly flowing past them.
Danae took something out and showed it to Meg over his shoulder. A blue candle burned in a glass case about a foot long and two inches in diameter. The aroma that crept into her nostrils was the sort that made a person want to sigh.
“It’s ‘time-bewitching incense.’ So long as it burns, day is transformed into night.”
As he put it away, the scenery began to dwindle behind them at ever greater speed.
III
D advanced through the forest on foot.
“Well, you went and lost our means of transport, you big dope.”
“You’re handsome and all, but you’re kinda lacking. What are we supposed to do when you put down the servant but let the boss get away?”
“At this rate, we could keep going for a century and still not get out of the forest. I hold you responsible.”
The hoarse voice grumbled a litany of complaints from the vicinity of the Hunter’s hip, but after a while it seemed to be crushed, a shriek of pain rang out, and it grew quiet. However, it seemed to keep remembering, returning time and again with more gloom and doom.
As they were going on through a succession of trees and grass that seemed to know no end, they’d encountered two of the enemy. Battling the master of the “light-spear eyes,” D had deflected the beams back at him with the blade of his sword and narrowly managed to stab the Nobleman through the heart, but the other one had escaped. In part that was the fault of the cyborg horse, which had been pierced through the barrel by the light spears, but aside from D and one other, no one knew that the Hunter had miraculously permitted the escape.
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“Ever since you announced we were going over to the island, I’ve had a bad feeling. Duchess Mizuki Dandorian—now there’s an accursed name. Especially where you’re concerned!”
“Duchess? What about the duke?” D asked. Perhaps it was on account of the fog that still clung to him that his steely voice seemed to waver just a bit.
“You really don’t remember, do you?” the hoarse voice asked back in a stunned tone. “Out of all your bloody battles, that’s the one fight pulled out of your memories, eh? Maybe it’s a spell the duke put on you out of jealousy, or it could be just simple amnesia—no, if it were amnesia, it’d have to mean you-know-who. Now listen good: To Duchess Dandorian, you were—gaaaaah!”
Fist still balled tightly, D hastened his pace.
It was strange the way this walk went. Out of the grass came snakes and insects and other creatures of indeterminate nature, and they followed along behind D. Among them were a number of species that could clearly move much faster than a person could walk. Nevertheless, they didn’t catch up to D. The Hunter’s gait was, to all appearances, just at normal speed. He didn’t run at all. Yet those that followed him only fell farther and farther behind. Before long, all those in his wake had been lost, and D suddenly halted.
About ten yards up ahead, there stood a young woman wearing a deep purple dress. Her face was so lovely any man would be paralyzed at the first sight of her, and she cast a faint shadow in the dappled sunlight.
From the Hunter’s loosening fist the hoarse voice jeered, “There, you see that? You might’ve forgotten, but she hasn’t. My, my, my. She got away once and came back for more.”
D, the woman said. Not with her voice. Her lips merely trembled. “I’ve been waiting for you. Will you not turn around and leave now?”
“I’m here on business. Once it’s settled, I’ll leave.”
“Once upon a time, I was slain by you, along with my husband. Would you do so again?”
“Over and over,” the Hunter replied, “as long as you keep coming back. That’s my job.”
The wind swept across the woman’s lovely visage. It was colored with grief.
Once more it blew. It was seething with hatred.
“If that is the case,” she said, “I won’t be reduced to dust a second time. I shall stop you and avert that fate.”
D bounded, cutting the woman from the top of her head down to the crotch. What resistance the blade met traveled up it to his shoulder.
There was no woman.
“An illusion. But you probably knew that,” the left hand said.
Not bothering to sheathe his blade, D spun to his right. The wind howled, and another wind collided with it. And where they met, sparks shot out. D’s sword had locked together with another blade.
The man in the ash-gray cape had bandages all over his face and hands. The bandages were dirty, soaked with blood and pus.
“The duke,” the left hand groaned. “Watch yourself. A man crazy with jealousy is a force to be reckoned with. But what a great couple they make, coming back to life together and everything!”
The two men leapt apart, and amidst pale blue streaks of light they changed their stances and the positions of their swords. The man—the duke—brought his sword far to the right, and for some reason he put his left palm out in front of his face. On the other side, D lowered the tip of his sword until it nearly scraped the ground and turned the blade ever so slightly to the left.
“We meet again, D!” the duke said in a voice like that of a ghost groaning from the depths of the earth. “When the island was restored, I wished to remain sleeping. Because I only wanted to forget everything. However, the revival project took no pity on me. Once again I saw my wife, and now I have encountered you. Oh, how I curse you, Sacred Ancestor. Being torn apart mentally and physically just once was more than enough for me.”
The duke sounded as if blood were about to gush from his mouth. Or rather, that his words were plastered with gore. With the bright blood that gushed from his soul. It was that tone that kept D standing still. However, the body beneath those bandages and that cape was terribly weak, and his voice was thin and broken. He was in absolutely no condition to square off against D.
“You think he’s unmanly, do you?” the hoarse voice said, and even it carried a morose tone. “That’s a cry from his very soul. D, he was destroyed by your hand, and for all his pain he might’ve found peace in death. Yet the woman told him how she felt about you—and as if to end his own life, he challenged you and was destroyed. No doubt today is a gift to him from God. This time, be sure to nail his coffin shut.”
D didn’t move—nor did the duke. Each of them carried the ghost of a lovely woman on his back. Perhaps it was her hand that nudged D forward.
The Hunter’s feet kicked off the ground ferociously, and the leap was timed perfectly so that the second D touched down again his sword lashed out with a weight and keenness that surely should’ve sliced the duke’s head in two. However, his blade cut empty air, and D staggered.
D’s eyes were trained on the open palm of the duke’s hand. On his palm alone pale flesh was exposed, and an eye had been scribed there with black lines. Its pupil was blazing red. It was unclear whether or not D noticed that, for an instant, his own staggering form burned there.
The duke closed his hand into a fist.
“As you can see, I suffer from an illness. When I first did battle with you, it had already gnawed me down to the bone. There are afflictions that even the full power of the Nobility’s knowledge cannot cure. I was still suffering from it when I was destroyed. When I was resurrected of late, I was asked what should be done about my affliction. A cure was possible. However, if it were to remain, I would be given another power—the power to triumph over D. I chose the latter without hesitation.”
The duke opened his left hand. D was still reflected in the eye scribed there.
“Just now, I have taken in everything about you. With this, I shall know your location no matter where you go. And I shall see your actions. And like so, I can also prevent them.”
He moved his left hand as if beckoning to D.
“Come,” the duke said. “Come to me.”
D stood there with his sword aimed at his opponent’s eye, but his body shook for an instant. As if fighting some unseen force.
“Come.”
D’s right foot took a step forward.
“This can’t—” the hoarse voice began, surprise suffusing its tone.
“Come.”
D started to take a second step, but managed to stop himself.
“I should expect no less from the man who slew me. But how about—this?”
The duke hauled back his right hand. Drawn by invisible strings, D stepped forward—and the duke’s sword pressed into the base of the Hunter’s neck.
Fresh blood stained the sun-dappled air.
A Light from the Past
chapter 6
I
Anyone who knew D could well imagine the scene where a bloody mist hung in the air. However, the blood sprayed from the Hunter. Duke Dandorian’s sword had quite clearly slashed D open from the right shoulder to the left lung. Anyone would’ve recognized that the fight was over. The proof of that was the way Dandorian radiated delight from every inch of his body—but rather than topple as he should’ve, D made a great bound.
“What?!”
As the duke stood there in the wide, haughty stance of a temple guardian, a stark flash sank into his chest. From midair D had hurled a rough wooden needle—however, the duke’s shoulder quaked with laughter. Not surprisingly, D dropped to one knee when he landed on the grass some five yards away, and from there he saw something bizarre. The needle he’d hurled had stopped about four inches shy of the duke. Wrapped around it to halt its deadly flight were bandages steeped in blood and pus.
There was more than just one bandage covering Dandorian’s body. His face, hands, feet, and torso were all bound in multiple strips, the ends of w
hich weren’t secured but fluttered in the wind. It was simple enough to see that two of them were wound about D’s projectile, but in light of the speed with which it’d been traveling, that seemed impossible.
“These strips of cloth guard me from any and all attacks. A cloth fortress, if you will. Wait, D! Cease your pointless struggling, for I now come to tear you to pieces.”
Perhaps the duke had entirely forgotten his deadly beckoning power now, but the eyes to be glimpsed from between the bandages gave off a blood light of hate and anticipation. Treading across the grass, the duke began his walk over to a foe dredged up from his past.
D didn’t move from where he’d touched down, and the blood spilling from his shoulder struck the black earth and green grass like a veritable torrent, never stopping for a second. And now he got right to his feet.
The duke stopped in his tracks. He was stunned to see D’s taste for battle hadn’t waned in the least. The Noble’s ungodly abilities to attack and defend gave him wholehearted confidence. Would the left hand he extended toward D make another deadly beckoning to the bloodied Hunter?
Dandorian started to take another step forward, but his leg suddenly bent at an angle. Before he could fall lengthwise, a hair-raising cry of agony from the mouth beneath the bandages was broadcast to the world.
“This is too . . . Damnation . . . The time for battle . . . D, we’ll meet—”
His voice cut out there, and the duke’s body fell onto the grass. Or rather, it crumpled. By the look of things, all that remained there was a mound of clothes and bandages.
D pressed his left hand to his wound. Once the massive bleeding stopped, he went and stood over what the duke had shed. Lifting one of the bandages with the tip of his sword, he put it in the grip of his left hand.
“They’re just regular bandages,” the hoarse voice said. “But there’s nothing normal about this pus and blood! I . . . geeeeeh!”
Undead Island Page 9