“I can make you talk if I have to,” Shin growled. “I could kill you by inches. The only part of you I’d need to leave intact is your mouth, so you could tell me the secrets.”
Even as the professor looked down at the naked blade that was pressed to his flesh again only a fraction of an inch from the last wound, he didn’t have the least bit of agitation in his eyes. He then said, “Simply learning the secret of the bead won’t help you at all. It’s nothing more than a power source, in a manner of speaking. In order for it to be of any use, you must be able to skillfully manipulate what it gives off. And only I can do that.”
The trembling of Shin’s blade made his shock apparent. He realized the professor wasn’t lying. “Okay,” he said, “I’ll grant you that one request. But once I do—”
“I know. However, once you’ve heard everything I have to say, you’ll most likely wish to treat the wound you’ve dealt me as well.”
And then Professor Krolock got off the bed and went over to the art supplies that were resting by his pillow. Less than ten minutes later, he tossed his pen back into a tube and stared down with satisfaction at the piece of vellum on his easel.
Shin didn’t yet realize the significance of any of this. His dagger resting unpretentiously on his knee but his form still charged with deadly determination, he sat in a chair about six feet away as he modeled for the artist.
“Done,” the professor said. Not to the real Shin, who sat before him, but to the likeness of him on the artist’s bizarre canvas. “You may have some use for me, but I have no such use for you. Listen to me well. Leave this inn without saying a word, and find some lonely cliff from which to hurl yourself. And you’re not to swim. See to it that you die. Select a locale where the tides are strong, so your corpse won’t be discovered for some time.”
“Understood,” replied a voice that carried laughter. It didn’t come from Shin, who was right in front of the professor, but rather from someone behind the artist.
But that wasn’t the reason the professor gasped and rose from his chair. Rather, it was because the hideous old man who’d sat before him had unexpectedly vanished.
No, that wasn’t entirely true. He was there. Well, something was there. The figure in the chair was now a detailed little doll.
Noticing this mysterious development, the professor was about to turn when a sharp pain struck him in the side of his neck.
“Trying to play smart with me?” Shin said, his words raining down cruelly on the professor as he huddled on the floor, his hand pressed to a wound that spilled bright blood. “I’ve seen what your trick is. But you can’t see me. Now, what am I gonna do with you?”
As he said that, black blood shot from the professor’s right shoulder like a mist and the old artist twisted in pain. Pressing the cold edge of his blade against the professor’s cheek, Shin said from behind him, “Don’t look at me. But never fear,” he added, “I won’t kill you yet. Though I don’t feel much like letting you live anymore, either. Talk to me. At least you’ll be able to extend your life a little that way. But I’m warning you—I’ll know if you’re lying.”
“I see,” the professor said in a tone of complete resignation. While both of them would be powerful freaks to the ordinary person, in a battle to the death, it was only natural that a professional warrior like Shin would have a decided advantage. “I’m in no great rush to die, either. Listen to me. This is how it is . . .”
The roar of the blazing oil stove was then joined by a low voice and the stench of blood. The voice droned on for quite some time. But before long, there was a cry that sounded almost pained. It belonged to the other man.
“Impossible . . . ,” Shin rasped. “If what you say is true, I won’t kill you . . . Rather, I can’t kill you . . . But I can’t let you out of my sight, either. Here you go!”
The professor’s neck stung as if it’d just been burned, and the old man realized that as the other man had let out his cry, he’d also stuck some gummy little object to the artist.
Clearly made of rubber, said object was a tiny spider no larger than the tip of his little finger. Apparently reacting to the professor’s body temperature the instant it stuck to him, its thin little body swelled up, limbs stretched from it, and it became what anyone would take for a genuine arachnid.
“That’s one of my puppets,” Shin told the professor, “and it’s equipped with a poisonous sting. Not even you can see the back of your own neck. No matter where you go, I’ll know your movements and hear your voice through that bug. Try anything funny, and one sting from it’ll send you into the next world. For both our sakes, don’t be indiscreet. At least—well, at least not until I’ve become a Noble.”
.
The sun set. This was a special night, for tomorrow was summer. Though the wind blowing in from the sea froze the people’s hearts, summer was on its way, and in order to greet it properly there were special preparations the townspeople had to complete. The final nail had been hammered into the elevated stage for the dance party just before sunset, and the performers who’d gathered had made all of the necessary arrangements for the following day earlier and retired to their wagons and tents. And the protective charms couldn’t be forgotten—there were magical amulets from various regions that could be hung near windows or nailed to entrances. Bunches of straw and dried narcissus leaves folded into a triangle. Dried ears of corn with the heads of two thousand sem ants stuck in them, and highly detailed caricatures of Nobles carved onto bulls’ horns.
Expectation for the white summer. Balmy breezes and the glistening green of fresh grass and flower buds ready to blossom.
And anxiety.
By their hearths, people struggled to remember the summer songs, and occasionally they looked to the sea with darkness in their eyes. Out in the dark water that was ever by their side and made their whole existence possible, there was a foreign object. But if it always came with the bright season, perhaps it was just part and parcel of summer.
With spears, hammers, and stakes in hand, the people of the northern coast walked the beach while watch fires illuminated the surf.
In his home of stone, the mayor of the village thought they might get through this first week without mishap, and assured himself that everything would be fine so long as there were fewer fatalities than last summer.
The sheriff was in his office, inspecting his weapons and trying not to dwell on the fact he might be the first one expected to square off against that thing. The last three years everything had gone off smoothly enough. He was sure he’d get by this year, too. And he had no doubt the shaved ice at the festival was going to be incredibly tasty.
Dwight kept telling his mother to shut up whenever she asked him when he was going to propose to Su-In, and he downed unrefined spirits, disheartened by the thought that he was doomed as long as that bodyguard was around.
And Su-In, having entered one of the dilapidated buildings in the Nobility’s resort area and made the necessary preparations for her daily life, went to bed early that evening.
The face of a certain man appeared in her dreams, and realizing that it wasn’t that of D, she awoke with a start just after midnight to find herself covered in sweat. As she mopped at her forehead, her eyes peered out into the darkness, where the man stood straight ahead of her. But he promptly vanished. It was just a dream, too.
Summer was coming, wasn’t it? While it always seemed like there was a portion of its light that the villagers would never see, it would still be amply radiant when it arrived.
Around midnight, that same man stood in front of a certain house. Water dripped from every inch of him, leaving a damp black trail on the road behind him like an elongated shadow.
The man wiped away his own saliva with the back of his hand. Though a ferocious hunger assailed his whole body, he hadn’t attacked anyone yet this year. He’d come ashore at a spot that wouldn’t be known to any of the humans in the village. He wished to avoid trouble, his reason being that he’d found
what he sought. Now he finally understood why he’d come ashore these past three years and what he’d been looking for when he’d done so. Another emotion, quite different from the intense hunger, was driving the man—a chilling sensation the man wouldn’t ordinarily know, though just once in the past his body had been consumed by it.
Three days earlier, the man had been sleeping. But a certain intense force had awakened him, and in a certain place he’d seen someone. The place was on a long, long road, with a ceiling and walls that stretched on forever. The person was a girl in a truck. And the man had realized then the reason why he woke from his sleep when summer came.
Crossing a stone bridge that spanned a drainage channel full of steaming water, the man opened the gate and entered the property surrounding the tiny home. There was a light on in the main house. A shadow moved across it. The tall figure leaning against one of the pillars at the entrance had just moved.
As his body was blasted by a supernatural aura unlike any he’d ever felt before, the man tensed.
No, the man thought, a hateful memory rising like a tumor from somewhere deep in the recesses of his mind. Once, long ago, we met. I sensed the exact same killing lust then. It was—in my castle . . .
“I thought you might come. And here you are,” D said from ten feet away.
“We met on the Nobles’ road as I was on my way to the village. Who are you?” the young man asked, something apparently drawing his interest as well. Even in the dark of night his eyes were gorgeous, as cold and clear as ice. They suited the North Sea.
After a momentary silence, the man asked, “Where is she?”
“Who?” D asked in return, although it was strange that he even bothered to respond to someone he should’ve destroyed out of hand.
“I don’t know.”
“Who are you?” the Hunter asked again.
“I don’t know.”
“Where did you come from?”
“The sea,” replied the man. “Someplace deep and cold.”
“That’s a fitting home for you. Go back.”
“Stay out of my way,” the man spat, tossing his cape behind him. Deep blue danced out in the moonlight—his garments were the color of the sea. “I have business here, and at long last, I’ve found the place. Where’s the person who lives here? Where’s the woman?”
The darkness between the two of them transformed. Most likely any ordinary person would’ve died in the grip of lunacy the instant they felt the aura that emanated from every inch of the man to completely envelop D. It was a ghastly miasma the likes of which even the Nobility could scarcely imagine. But then it suddenly vanished.
“You . . . ,” the man groaned, the word sounding like a cry of agony.
“Now it’s my turn to ask a question. Who are you?” said D. “I saw the portrait in the village’s museum. The lord of Castle Meinster didn’t have your face. But the curator of the museum told me another story. I’ll see if you can confirm what she said. Don’t you know me, Meinster?” D said, his eyes reflecting the image of the man.
And the man’s pupils reflected D. His cloudy eyes called to mind those of a dead fish; they began to fill with a spark of recognition—and hatred.
“Yes, I believe I do,” the man said. “Did you think I could forget? After I was not only hurled into that pit and had my own fortress destroyed, but then had the fruits of my precious research stolen from me . . . And it was you who did all that?!”
Not waiting for a reply, the man extended his right hand and pointed it at D’s chest. A golden ring adorned his forefinger. The ultra-compact reactor within it took up only a fraction of an inch, but it could generate and focus as much energy as an earthquake measuring 8.0 on the Richter scale. A seven-million-degree beam of energy a millionth of a micron wide shot from an opening to lance through D’s chest.
At least, it should’ve lanced through the Hunter. A perplexed look in his eye, the man stared down at his unresponsive device.
The pendant on D’s chest gave off a blue light.
“I’m not saying,” the Hunter replied, “and it will make no difference when you’re dead.”
The words came from above the man’s head.
It didn’t seem likely that anyone could dodge or parry D’s sword when he brought it down right on top of them. The blade limned a gorgeous arc of death, and somewhere in its travels, there was a wild burst of sparks.
Just as he came back to earth, D leapt to the right. And as he leapt, his right hand flashed out. The thing that’d been racing toward D’s throat was stopped once again in a shower of pale sparks. And then something quite strange happened. The pole-like weapon that’d stretched to a length of at least seven feet to match the distance of D’s leap then retracted smoothly into the man’s hand so that only the stiletto point remained showing. No doubt it was some sort of weapon with a length that could be changed at will. Another sharp point protruded from the opposite end of the man’s fist.
“Tell me something,” the man said as he slowly closed the distance between them. “Why do I know how to use this weapon? Who am I?”
Surely it seemed a bizarre query; D had just called this man Meinster and he, in turn, had said he knew the Hunter. Summer had brought a bizarre visitor.
D ran.
The sharp black stiletto tip stretched from the man’s hand. Though it moved with incredible speed, the Hunter’s sword parried it with ungodly skill, and as the other man reeled from the terrific force of D’s blow, the sword then made a sharp turn toward his right shoulder. But it slashed through thin air, and the sound of it only came later.
Somersaulting in midair, the figure in blue made a second leap just as he came back to earth. It carried him out past the gate.
“You’re a fearsome fellow,” the man said, never taking his eyes off D. “I suppose so long as you’re around, I won’t accomplish my ends. We shall meet again.”
The shadowy figure spun around.
D took to the air, but by the time he arrived where the vampire had been, his foe had already crossed the street and reached the edge of the embankment.
On the beach, sentries had built watch fires. Noticing the fiend racing by without making a sound, one of the closest men cried, “Who the hell are you?!”
“Where do you think you’re going?” shouted a second.
Both men dashed over to the figure, but instantly fell to the ground clutching their throats. The man in blue had torn them open with nothing more than his fingernails. Their tragic end had come with such speed that the rest of the men were frozen not by fear so much as sheer amazement.
This opening was all that the shadowy figure needed to throw himself into the waves that danced magically with the reflected flames of the watch fires. In a flash, the sea was whipped up into rough black peaks, and by the time the people had rubbed their eyes in disbelief, no trace remained of the figure.
Unsure exactly what had transpired and unable to even enter the sea themselves, the villagers could only gaze at the black crests of the waves until an eldritch aura hit them from behind, forcing them to turn in a daze. D stood there, blade still in hand. Although the people didn’t notice it, this alone spoke volumes about exactly how dangerous the foe who’d just vanished actually was. Keeping his eyes on the rumbling surf for some time, D then sheathed his longsword.
“That character just now—it was him, wasn’t it?” one of the men inquired fearfully.
“You were chasing him, weren’t you? And you managed to run the fiend off?!” someone else said.
Little by little, murmurs of awe and respect arose.
“That’s unbelievable,” said one of the men. “Just incredible! Simply keeping that creep from killing you would’ve been an accomplishment in itself, but you actually chased him off!”
“You’re working for Su-In, aren’t you? You suppose you could help us out?”
But no sooner had someone spoken these words than a cry of “Hey, what’s that?!” arose from the edge of the throng.
Everyone looked at the man who’d shouted—and then their eyes flew in the direction he was pointing.
About fifty or sixty feet from where the Noble had just submerged, something round was floating some twenty or thirty feet from shore. Only at the very edge of the circle of firelight could the people squint and make it out as the head of a beautiful woman. Though the colors were tinged by the light of the flames, it was soon evident that she had gorgeous blond hair. And another thing—her eyes were red. As she glared at the people on the beach, her eyes were such an awful vermilion hue that their color would’ve been clear even if she’d been soaking in a sea of blood. Naturally, her body must’ve been underwater.
Was she a servant of the Nobility, or some sea monster? While her exact nature remained uncertain, something else became clear. Something was playing with the water behind her. Ordinary folks would’ve had trouble believing it, but it was a phenomenon with which those who lived on the sea were well acquainted. It was a tail—covered in scales, and splitting in two like that of a fish.
This woman couldn’t possibly be one of those—
Her mouth twisted into a smile, but how many people there saw the canine teeth that jutted like fangs from her lips was anyone’s guess. A second later, the woman’s head sank into the water so quickly it seemed to just vanish. No one could manage to say anything intelligible.
The water rose, then parted. To give birth to a woman.
Although the sea was called the amniotic fluid that’d given life to all things, surely it couldn’t have fostered many children as gorgeous as this one. The body that shot up into the air with tendrils of glittering water trailing behind it was the very epitome of beauty. Even the fish she held in her teeth only seemed to add to her loveliness. Swelling beneath the golden hair that hung down to her waist, her breasts were human enough. Her slim waist and the tempting curves of the hips below certainly caught the eyes of the men. Forking into two points at the end, her tail reflected the flames of their watch fires as if it were covered with a thousand tiny mirrors.
Mysterious Journey to the North Sea, Part 2 Page 6