“Don’t move your arm or even turn your head,” the old man—Shin—said, licking his chops. Though he only had one arm to support the massive weapon, its muzzle didn’t waver an inch. “Egbert also told me what happens when you get a taste of blood. You should’ve left when you figured I was dead, but you were stupid enough to show pity for me.” Chuckling, he added, “That’s probably why you’re not smart enough to know what the bead does.”
D’s eyebrow rose. “And do you know what it does?” he asked.
Snorting as if trying to drive away some foul odor, Shin replied, “Someone else knew—an old fart that calls himself a professor or something. And true to his name, he sure did have some information for me. But what kind of fate is it to have to drink your own blood to win in battle? You really must lead a cursed existence! But that’s not how it’ll be for me. Instead of a lowly little half-breed like you, I’m going to be a true Noble. Now, where is the bead?” he asked. The words were bare of any sense of triumph, and rang with a tone of naked, wretched greed.
The steamy air and the aroma that surrounded them shook.
“Over there,” D said, just making a small toss of his head to the ground to his right. “The talking hand has it.”
Shin was speechless for a moment, but then his hideous old face twisted in delight and he nodded, saying, “Oh, I see. What safer hiding place could you ask for? Well, I’ll be taking it then. Don’t move.” Laughing, he added, “On second thought, go ahead and do whatever the hell you like. I have no further use for you!”
Before Shin had even finished speaking, he pulled the trigger. With a sound like a small explosion, a lead slug weighing a sixth of an ounce shot through D’s head. And at that moment, Shin probably knew what his own fate would be. A split second before pulling the trigger, he’d seen something. D’s eyes were giving off a blood light.
While Shin’s finger was desperately pulling the trigger, D was in motion. The gravity of Egbert’s “kingdom” was no more, and he’d become a full-fledged Noble. Shin couldn’t tell what move the Hunter was going to make next. The slug didn’t even rip into the shrubs until after the rifle had been slashed in two by a blow that also carved Shin open from the left shoulder to the right lung and his body had thudded backward.
Out of reflex, D covered his nose and mouth. Shin had called him cursed for having to drink his own blood to win. But even the puppet master couldn’t have imagined that the blood he’d spilled with a shot from his own gun would evaporate in the summer sun, forming a thick aroma that invaded D’s nostrils and filled him with demonic power. Perhaps there was some truth to what Shin had said.
As D set eyes blazing with blood light on the real Shin, the Hunter’s expression shifted ever so slightly. Suddenly, there was a puppet where the old man had been. And when D turned around, his left hand was nowhere to be seen on the ground.
.
II
.
Perhaps a thousand feet inland from the phantom woods that’d been the stage for D’s deadly combat were the real woods. Not even the roar of the surf could be heard there. In its place, there was the humming and chirping of insects called out by the sultriness when the chill departed the night before like a dream. But their cries ceased unexpectedly, for an old man as thin as a rail had jumped in and roughly trampled their summer shrubs.
On the fallen trunk of a massive tree covered in emerald moss, another figure stood up. Having shed his trademark cloak, Professor Krolock stood there in a somewhat grimy shirt and trousers, both of which looked to be made of burlap. Seeing the one-armed old man who’d raced there, he asked, “Did you get it?” His haggard expression didn’t change for a second.
“Yeah,” the old man—Shin—said with a nod. “I’ve got it right here. Look at this!”
When the professor saw what the old man held, his face twisted in disgust.
Quickly, Shin added, “This is his left hand. The bead’s inside it.”
Anything could happen on the Frontier— nothing at all surprised its inhabitants.
“And just what did you intend to do next?” asked the professor.
At his query, Shin clutched the tattered limb to his chest, trembling. Try as he might, he simply couldn’t contain his delight.
“That should be pretty obvious,” the puppet master replied. “I’m gonna get out of town as fast as I can. I may have gotten the bead, but he’s still alive. He’s a scary one, and I have to count myself lucky to have the thing at all. The next time he sees me, I’m as good as dead. Those blood-red eyes of his—he didn’t even see the real me, but it still felt like he was looking right down into the marrow of my bones.” Chuckling, he added, “Of course, the next time we meet, I’ll be so much better than him he won’t be fit to lick my boots.”
As the professor indifferently watched the grotesque tableau of Shin violently shaking the severed hand, he asked, “Have you actually verified that the bead is in there?”
The puppet master’s countenance had been a picture of unwavering joy, but a sudden gust of agitation blew into his features. “No. But I—”
“Then your joy may prove somewhat premature.”
“Impossible!” Shin shouted, holding the well-formed limb up to his eyes.
“You and I could return to the Capital, but if that hand doesn’t hold the bead, it’ll be utterly worthless to us. Why don’t you check and make certain?”
The professor’s words proved just persuasive enough to goad Shin into action. Waving the severed limb he held, the old man said to it, “Okay, answer me. Are you dead already, or do you still live?”
Although Shin—who’d reached the peak of his anger—didn’t notice it, Professor Krolock surely looked to the heavens for deliverance.
All the chirping of the insects had died out. But what followed, almost like an apology, was a burst of indescribable laughter.
Realizing it was the hand that’d laughed, the astonished Shin flipped it over. He’d been looking at the back of it. Before his riveted eyes, the surface of the palm rippled, and something rose in it. A face. It had eyes. And a nose, too. It was even equipped with a mouth. This human visage clearly possessed a will of its own, yet its features were disturbing—as if it lacked what was most essential to a human being.
Chortling, the hand said, “Stop your fretting. I’m alive. And I’ve been that way for quite some time. I’ve lived a hundred times longer than you, I bet.”
“Then I should be able to get right to the point,” Shin said, his tone heavy with coercion and the blackest confidence. There was no trace at all of his earlier distress. “You’re supposed to have a bead in your belly,” he continued. “How about it?”
“Now that you mention it, I do remember swallowing something like that a good long time ago.” With another chortle, it added, “What was it—about three thousand years ago?”
“Are you trying to mock me?!” Shin cried. Lowering his head to his chest, he thrust the point of a dagger before the tiny eyes. The weapon had been hidden in his chest pocket, and he’d drawn it with his teeth. “I’d like to see you try and hide your eyes and mouth again,” he snarled. “Let’s see if you can pull them in so far I can’t gouge them right out of you.”
“Why not carve the bead out of it while you’re at it?” the professor suggested.
“Good idea!”
“Hold it! Just give me a second,” the weird face said in a desperate effort to stop him. “I’m not sure exactly which of these things you want, but I’ll try and find it now. Let me see . . .”
And then there was suddenly a distinct bulge in one of its cheeks.
“How about this?” the hand asked in a calm tone.
And then the impossible happened—
Spat from its mouth with an impressive whir, the dull silver bead shot right into Shin’s eye before he could ever dodge it. Reeling backward as he let out a beastly howl, he intended to press his own hand to his eye, but instead wound up pressing the other hand to it. Prying the sever
ed hand free again, he threw it away. But there was no bead left in the wound. Where his eye had been there was nothing but a bloody opening.
A burst of laughter echoed up from the ground. The severed hand was standing upright. Both eyes were open wide, and half of the bead jutted from its tiny mouth. How it could laugh with its mouth full was anyone’s guess.
“Wait!” the professor screamed as he readied to pounce on the limb. The hand made no attempt to escape, but rather let the old artist easily get a firm grip on it with both of his own withered hands.
“You may have me,” the hand laughed, “but that won’t do you much good. At least, it won’t help you get this!”
Though it was unclear exactly how it continued to talk while doing this, the hand spit the bead from its mouth. Limning a silvery arc, it flew toward the sea.
While the professor was distracted, a sharp pain shot through his hand, and he then shook loose the weird severed hand. It was only after diving into the bushes to search for the bead and coming out again empty-handed that he realized he’d been bitten. Seeing the tiny teeth marks around the base of his right thumb, the professor clucked his tongue disdainfully.
As a hue of hatred rapidly spread in Professor Krolock’s eyes, he looked down at Shin, who was still writhing on the ground. “Indeed, it does seem your joy was a bit premature.” As the professor spoke, he drew a knife from his belt and plunged it into Shin’s neck up to the hilt.
“You son of a bitch . . . ,” the old man said in a tone so mournful most would’ve preferred to cover their ears. He was looking up at the professor. Gouts of blood spilled from his mouth, yet still he spoke. “You idiot . . . You’ve still got my poison spider . . . on the back of your neck . . . I’ll take you to hell with me!”
“You mean this thing?” asked the professor. Pulling the poison spider from the breast pocket of his coat, he waved it before Shin’s eyes. “I couldn’t see it myself, but I could catch a glimpse of it with something else. While you weren’t around, I asked someone at the inn to set up a pair of mirrors for me. First I got one to reflect the nape of my neck, and then I held the other up in front of my face to reflect the first. After that, it was simply a matter of drawing a picture.”
His energy apparently drained, Shin fell to the ground with a frightful rictus, while behind him a spider that’d become a small piece of rubber was discarded by the professor, who turned toward the sea with a ghastly expression hitherto unseen.
“I’ll find you,” Professor Krolock declared. “I’ll do whatever it takes, but I shall find you. O little treasure, you alone can unlock the mystery of human and Noble blood. And you will be mine!” And then, pressing down on one hand all the while, he began to walk once again toward where the bead had disappeared.
.
At the top of a cliff, the roar of the sea could be heard in the distance. If you turned off the Nobles’ road onto the street leading into the village, this was the spot where the road ran quite close to the sea. Looking down from the brink of black rock, you’d be greeted by the fierce spray from waves crashing on the wild tangle of boulders below, and a school of monstrous fish a foot to a foot and a half in length could been seen through the water, massing with teeth bared as if waiting for some suicidal soul. The sight was enough to give some a strange impulse to suddenly throw themselves over the edge.
While the monstrous fish were carnivorous, they didn’t always congregate below the cliff. Their behavior was a throwback to ancient times, when the Nobility had ruled the whole area and had thrown humans off the cliff either as an example to those who would defy them or merely for sport. The number thus dispatched had been so great and the practice had continued so long that it had become a sort of conditioned response in the fish. Even now, nearly ten centuries later, they would rise from the depths of the sea as if guided by instinct, swimming in circles and snapping their jagged teeth to beg for food whenever they sensed humans up on the cliff.
There were two people up there that might provide an afternoon snack. One was a she-beast dripping with allure, the other a statuesque seeker of knowledge—Samon and Glen. Probably they themselves didn’t know whether it was mutual attraction or loathing that united them, yet their strange relationship continued.
At present, Samon’s eyes sparkled with a dark enthusiasm, while the horrid shadows of defeat hung on Glen’s face. Just a day earlier he’d challenged D, only to be defeated. Armed with the closely guarded “Lorelei” technique, he’d dealt a serious wound to his opponent, and he’d been fortunate enough to receive assistance from an unexpected intruder. But Glen knew better than anyone that without that aid, the blow he caught in return from D’s blade would’ve been fatal, and his body burned with that knowledge and a deplorable sense of failure. His recognition of this fact gave way to an undirected rage that now escalated to the point where he wanted to shred the very bandages wrapped around his right shoulder and cut off his useless arm.
I just can’t rise to that level, he told himself.
Sooner or later, a seeker of knowledge sees the end of the road—and that very phrase described the one fate he never wanted to find there.
As anger and despair tumbled across the swordsman’s handsome face like colors in a kaleidoscope, Samon stared at him, her eyes brimming with an emotion that was neither fully contempt nor pity. She’d told Glen that it looked like her compatriots were going to try something first, prompting his visit to D. Glen had come out of the resulting duel less than triumphant. Mindful of the eyes of the villagers, she’d taken the injured man to the ruined temple and personally treated his wounds. This was the same hateful man who’d saved her from the professor’s spell, taken her against her will, and continually belittled her. Therefore, when he’d challenged D at her insistence and he’d been left defeated, Samon had chuckled cruelly in her heart of hearts. The reason she’d patched him up was because, as long as he still lived, she could get him to rashly challenge the Hunter once more and make it that much easier for her compatriots to obtain the bead. And yet, as the sorceress stood on the cliffs gazing at the young swordsman, the same sort of pathos one might glimpse in someone looking at her beloved seemed to swirl in her eyes.
“Are you going to quit now?” Samon asked in a derisive tone. “That would be for the best,” she added. “Your opponent is Vampire Hunter D—a swordsman unrivaled in the entire Frontier. That’s not a level of skill a mere seeker of knowledge can hope to attain. Throw away your foolish pride and leave town without further delay. And just forget any of this ever happened.”
There was no way to describe her remarks save harsh and contemptuous, but it wasn’t clear whether or not Glen even heard them as he looked out over the North Sea in silence, his sword in his right hand.
“I can’t win, can I?” he said flatly, letting his words ride on the wind that blew by. “You’re right—I certainly can’t beat him. A little grub wriggling around on the ground can train all it likes, but it’ll still never measure up to a greater dragon. But there is a way. I’m sure of it. There’s a way for me to bring Vampire Hunter D to his knees.”
Samon squinted her eyes—a sudden gale had struck her. When she opened them fully again, Glen was facing her.
He’s gone mad, thought Samon. That was the only conclusion his expression allowed her to draw.
“There certainly is. Just one,” the seeker of knowledge shouted, his whole body trembling. “When you went to get me some dinner, you also brought back news you’d heard. For once, I have to believe there is a God. Ah,” he sighed, “to think that I was defeated, standing there on the brink of hopelessness when my savior should appear in such a form—”
All hint of color drained from Samon’s expression. This fierce sorceress would leave the faces of even hardened combatants pale, but she backed away as her body filled with a mind-numbing primal fear.
“You can’t be serious,” she said, her lips trembling as she spat the words. “You wouldn’t actually do that . . .”
; “Yes, I’ll become a Noble,” the man declared resolutely, his eyes colored by a killing lust. “Although technically, I’d be one of their servants if a Noble bit me. Yes, little more than a fiend following the commands of the one who bit him, wandering the earth seeking the lifeblood of the same human race to which he once belonged. But none of that matters to me. Not if that’s what it takes to surpass Vampire Hunter D.” Laughing, he added, “Come to think of it, we could never ask for a clearer motive to do battle. A Hunter against a servant of the Nobility.”
Samon was left stunned, literally rooted by his surpassing vindictiveness, and as Glen came before her, he reached out with his wounded right arm and grabbed her pale throat like an eagle clutching its prey. The woman tried to twist away, but he brought his face up to her light pink lips and said, “Starting this evening, I’ll be going out every night. Looking for him, of course. You’re going to ask around the village and try to find someplace he’s likely to appear. We’ll both be looking for him.”
“But that’s simply—Do you think I’d do that? Do you think I could?” Samon asked, her voice trembling. She was terrified by the tenacity of a man who could seriously order her to do such things. A blade of ice rode down her spine. It was actually quite sensual. Samon could feel her crotch growing damp.
“Do you have a problem with that?” Glen asked her. “If so, I’ll throw you off this cliff right here and now. If you can’t do anything but dress my wounds and roll in my bed, then the only thing you’ll be good for is filling the bellies of the fish that gather down there.”
Hand still locked on the woman’s pale throat, Glen pulled her close. Samon didn’t fight him. To the contrary, the temptress wrapped both hands around Glen’s head and put her lips to his.
A long time passed.
As the string of saliva between them trembled with Samon’s ragged breath, she stared at the man and practically panted, “I’ll be glad to follow your commands. Up until the very day the Noble sinks his fangs into your throat,” she laughed.
Mysterious Journey to the North Sea, Part 2 Page 8