Once the figure that looked like he’d crush his horse at any moment had disappeared down the road, Hiki spread his arms from his spot in the saddle. The sleeves of his thin garment ran from his wrists to his ankles almost like wings, and they became taut membranes.
“No wind, eh? Let’s make some, then.”
His slender foot kicked his horse’s flank. The cyborg horse galloped off down a road in completely the opposite direction from the man’s four colleagues.
“Last to leave, and the first to arrive,” Hiki murmured as if the words were a spell, then he lightly jumped up on top of his saddle and spread his arms.
The pair of membranes caught the wind, billowing out behind him like the wings of an angel. And then Hiki’s body drifted into the air, quickly rising higher and higher. Just like an angel. Perhaps that was why his name was written with the ancient characters for “flight” and “demon.” Catching the wind—or the airflow from his cyborg horse’s mad gallop—he had become a bird.
Perhaps the animal had been trained in this regard, because on losing its master the cyborg horse halted and raised its head, spotting the figure that’d already been reduced to a speck. Before long, the speck was flying north at a speed no bird could ever match, and the horse began to give chase with the wind swirling in its wake. No one save this faithful steed knew that its sky-bound master was now flying at a rate easily in excess of the speed of sound.
Three hours later, a comm bug from the town of Calico brought the sheriff shocking news. With the insect in hand the lawman ran to the mayor’s house and had it repeat what it’d told him.
“The village of Jagos is gone? Burned to the ground?” the mayor asked once more, and the locust-like comm bug responded in the affirmative. A product of the Nobility, not only could the insect understand human speech and engage in conversation, it could also fly to its destination at supersonic speeds.
“Five days ago, someone attacked the village of Jagos, turning its inhabitants into servants of the Nobility. For four days no travelers passed through there, but on the morning of the fifth day the town of Calico received this information via a comm bug from a traveler paying a call on the village.”
Word of this had shocked the town of Calico, and the reconnaissance party that was immediately dispatched had confirmed the accuracy of the traveler’s report. In Jagos, villagers had been sleeping in houses with all the windows shut, their fangs exposed. However, there’d only been five of them—the rest were in the village meeting place. They’d been reduced to brutalized corpses, their limbs either ripped or chopped off. The reconnaissance party had been reminded of the end the Xeno clan had met.
According to the comm bug, the strange devastation had come as evening approached. Having completed their investigation, the reconnaissance party had left the village, but there was an aircraft they’d spotted even before making their exit. For roughly an hour it’d circled at an altitude of about a thousand feet as if waiting for the group to leave, and once the reconnaissance party was some fifteen hundred feet from the village, the craft dropped something. Purely by chance, one member of the reconnaissance party happened to see it transpire.
“And then, the village was enveloped in flames.”
At that last remark from the comm bug, the mayor closed his eyes. The sheriff couldn’t tell whether the old man was trying to picture the fiery inferno, or to expel it from his memory. The lawman immediately thought of something else. What he’d discussed with the five Hunters just before they’d left.
After slaking their thirst in the village of Jagos and playing out their bloody vengeance, where had the Noblemen vanished to? And then, on noticing a certain sound, he turned his gaze out the window to a world approaching nightfall.
Damn it all. Rain at this of all times?! If they run into those bastards soaked to the skin, they’ll be off to their final reward! Of all the shitty luck.
In the blink of an eye, the light rains that’d started just around noontime had become a torrential downpour—the kind of “heavy” rain unique to the Frontier that would hammer those on the road. Hammer them? The terrible precipitation could strike a person with the same force as hail, leaving unprepared travelers unconscious on the road and openly inviting death. On meeting with the kind of downpour that occasionally killed even monsters, people would go into their homes, while travelers would either make use of a portable tent or retreat to one of the emergency shelters situated along the highways, where they’d pray that the savage rains wouldn’t become a thunder-and-lightning storm. Out on the Frontier, lightning would split massive trees and shatter boulders just like the spear of a great god of antiquity. Even greater fire dragons and armored beasts wouldn’t escape instantaneous death if they were struck. As a result, the people of the Frontier had come to refer to the lightning that bleached those downpours as “the Glittering Gates to the Land of the Dead.”
Out in those fearsome rains, a carriage raced recklessly on. It was a coach that’d been hired in town. Unfortunately for both the passenger and the driver, the day of their departure had been blessed with sunshine and blue skies. A crowning piece of misfortune was the fact that the aircraft carrying this passenger had arrived from the Capital more than an hour ahead of schedule. By the time the downpour hit them, the coach was in the middle of a high pass where both pressing on and turning back became impossible. While the driver recommended turning back, the passenger had insisted that they press on. If they continued on three miles beyond the pass, there’d be a shelter. The driver, who’d actually been on the fence about what to do, then decided to go for it.
Now the rain sprayed off the carriage so hard it left a white haze over it as it was coming up on the crest of the pass.
“We made it,” the driver announced with an approximation of relief from beneath his vinyl slicker.
It was unclear whether the flash of white that bleached the world then was to celebrate that fact, or if it was just a mocking bit of irony. Only a heartbeat later came a crack of thunder like the howl of a colossal beast.
The pair of cyborg horses reared on their hind legs in an expression of the instincts they’d had since before their conversion. Fear.
“Gates to the Land of the Dead?” the driver murmured in a dazed tone as he desperately fought the panicked horses. “Got no choice but to shoot down from the pass in one go. Don’t know if the footing will be safe or not, though.”
As if his grumbling had been overheard, a voice from the brass communication tube set to the right of his seat said, “It’s okay. Just keep going.” It was the strong yet cultured voice of a young lady.
Like I needed you to tell me that, the driver thought to himself, but, recalling how she’d overruled him when he wasn’t sure whether or not they could make it over the pass, he responded, “Well, I aim to.”
He then raised his whip defeatedly.
III
Before he could strike a fresh blow with that coiling serpent of a whip, its length drooped down weakly. The driver had raised his right hand high but then forgot to follow through with the motion as he peered into the darkness ahead. He was certain the lightning that’d just flashed had picked out the form of a horse and rider.
One more time, the driver pleaded in his heart. I’m begging you—just let me see that gorgeous face one more time.
His wish was answered. Answered by a voice even more lovely than the face burned into the back of his eyelids.
“It would seem you’re in a bit of a jam, are you not?” said a voice that actually issued from the vicinity of the rider’s face. It had such a mysterious ring to it that it made the driver tremble again. However, its tone was no more than a whisper. So, how could it reach his ears through such a deafening downpour?
As if to respond in kind, the driver lowered his voice as well, saying, “No, not really. I was just thinking over whether to head down now or to sit the rain out here.”
“And which did you decide upon?” the rider asked, apparently able to cat
ch the driver’s hushed tone as well.
Even as his body melted into warm putty with rapture, the driver got a chill.
“Well, I’m gonna head on down.”
“That’s the proper choice. Though sitting the rain out here would also be the proper choice.”
“How’s that?”
The voice rang out again, gloomy and gorgeous in the darkness.
“However, there’s an even better choice!”
The driver was at a loss for words.
“The passenger in your coach is a young woman, is it not?”
There was still no answer from the driver.
“She would’ve arrived at Calico Airfield from the Capital just past noon today. Is that not correct?”
The driver got the feeling he’d been caught up in some awe-inspiring fate. A horrifying fate.
“I should like to confirm her name with you. What does she go by?”
Silence spread along the road through the pass, with the darkness and the rain.
Yet, rising above it all, a sharp-toned voice replied, “I’m Annette Krishken! Do you have some business with me?”
Before the driver could open his mouth, a trembling voice like a plucking of golden harp strings covered with blood said, “Yes—just as I thought.”
To the driver, the speaker sounded moved nearly to tears.
“I was so excited, I set out before my compatriots and arrived first. Out on the plains it would be impossible to miss you, but it was in this auspicious spot that long ago our clan discovered Grand Duke Jekyll’s army in a driving rain, striking the first blow and wiping them out. Come to think of it, the hour is nearly the same, and just look at the weather. It must be through divine providence that I can now make the daughter of our nemesis one of our kind in this very place. Woman—descendant of the Krishkens—step down from the coach.”
“Now wait just a minute,” the driver interrupted. The speaker’s words had returned him to his senses. Letting the whip in his right hand lie across his knees, he said, “Just who in the name of hell are you, buster? Since you’ve flat-out ignored me, I don’t give a good goddamn about anything you have to say.”
“And you shall stop me?” the voice from the darkness asked with amusement.
“It’s my job to see to it my passenger makes it safely to her destination. Sorry, but as a rule, this is how I deal with thieves, highwaymen, and kidnappers.”
He turned the butt end of the whip toward the source of the voice. A concealed trigger was revealed, and the driver’s finger curled around it and pulled. Though he held the weapon at waist level, long experience guaranteed the accuracy of his aim.
With an impact like a blow from a small dragon, a ball of hot lead was swallowed up by the pitch blackness of the man’s gut. While that wasn’t as lethal as a shot through the heart, ninety-nine times out of a hundred it would take the fight out of an opponent.
For his next attack the driver discarded the whip, grabbing the repeating rifle that stood next to the driver’s seat. This time he took careful aim. He braced the weapon against his shoulder.
Suddenly white flames glowed right before his eyes, not two inches from him. No, not flames, but a pale face. It only looked like flames on account of its beauty. Before he could even wonder if there could be a man with such exquisite features in this world, the driver was drowning in that beauty. He didn’t even have time enough to question when the man had come right up in front of him.
The gun fell.
The other man’s face smiled alluringly.
“My name is Baron Nichol Hayden, of the first house of Xeno. When you reach the hereafter, you may tell them this: I had the good fortune of being sent to hell by a kiss from the esteemed baron.”
And then the driver was as motionless as if he hung in midair while the alluring red lips of the other face pressed to his like a lover’s. Two seconds passed . . . three . . . A bewitching time passed in the darkness where none would see. Even the thunder held its breath.
Finally, the pale face pulled away. The driver’s face remained there.
Lightning zipped down. The face it illuminated was as shriveled and dry as that of a mummy. Like a dead branch, the body dropped jerkily from the driver’s seat to the ground, its fall punctuated by a roar of thunder.
“The obstacle has been removed. Come, child!” She was addressed by a voice matching a face that’d returned to its rightful place atop the steed. “You saw the kiss I just gave, did you not? Did you find me comely? If so, there shall be no escape for you. Come out. Surrender to the desire burning so fervently in your heart, and accept my kiss.”
His face was turned toward the coach door, watching.
It wasn’t long before it opened from within. The girl who stepped out into the falling rain looked to be about sixteen or seventeen years of age. She wore a frilly white blouse and a blue skirt that went down to her ankles. Rain bounced off her round-brimmed hat decorated with flowers. And just as Baron Hayden had suggested, she swooned from his pale countenance, far lovelier than her flowers or even the girl herself. In a manner of speaking, she was mesmerized by his good looks, the mind of even this pure girl invaded by lewd thoughts.
Baron Hayden let a little smile escape, as if his work were a fait accompli.
“Come,” he commanded.
A flash of light exposed him on his white steed for a single instant. A long robe the color of darkness covered him down to the knees, and if he were to stand on the ground, it would undoubtedly conceal his boots of the same color as well.
Annette walked up to him. Leaning over in the saddle, the baron cupped her face between his hands.
“Though it’s a shame to drain the life from one so lovely, my hatred burns hotter than the flames of hell. Your death will no doubt plunge your father, your mother, and your entire family into a boiling morass of grief. Such sweet expectation.”
He whispered those deadly words from so close their lips nearly touched.
The girl let out a gasp. But was it a groan of fear, or an exhilarated moan?
The baron turned his grinning face ever so slightly, preparing for that deadly kiss, and then—
The baron spun around as if he’d been shot. It was toward the same road through the pass that’d brought him here that he turned. Perhaps seeing something through that weighty darkness, perhaps hearing something, he cocked a willow-thin eyebrow. There was no more laughter swimming in confidence.
“They come. My compatriots are on their way. But before them comes a lone rider—oh, who could this be? Can you see him, child? My hands are trembling. My feet are riveted. My heart hammers madly. Tell me, if you will, what this is I feel? Is this the thing known as fear?”
However, the baron’s eyes were wildly aglitter, and a pair of gleaming sharp fangs poked from the corners of his mouth. His body swelled with enmity and the lust for battle.
“I shan’t let anyone have you. Here and now, you shall receive my kiss.”
And as he spoke, his deadly lips drew closer. The baron had supreme confidence in his abilities, and in the fact that the girl would let him do this without showing a whit of resistance.
The heavens and earth were bleached white. The Nobleman’s handsome visage twisted in amazement. Annette backed away wildly. Her rain-slick face had returned to its senses—no, if anything, it was more feverish than ever with rapture.
The baron realized the girl was looking over his shoulder at something. Now he had no choice but to turn and look.
Again lightning flashed, revealing the sight to him—the stark image of a rider in black on a black steed about fifteen feet behind them. Beneath the wide-brimmed traveler’s hat, an exquisite visage was trained on him.
“Who in the hell are you?!” the Nobleman asked in a groan that reeked of defeat and despair.
More than surprise at how the rider could draw so close without his superior senses as a Noble detecting him, it was the humiliation the baron felt at those gorgeous features that seared
his body. For the traveler’s face, illuminated by the lightning, was ten thousand times more exquisite than his own.
“Identify yourself. I should like to know your name. Your name, sir!”
Though the baron bellowed like a madman, there was no reply. Almost as if it were a reminder of one of the laws of the Frontier—there was no need to give your name to those who didn’t give theirs.
Suddenly, a different voice cried out. “This man is of the Xeno line. He said he’s Baron Nichol Hayden. And he came here to abduct me!” Annette shouted as her whole body went as limp as a wet doll.
“If you’ll get out of the way, I’ll be going,” said a voice of steel struck by the rain. “I may make my living off the Nobility, but I’m not under contract to hunt this man.”
“No . . .”
As Annette stood there rooted in astonishment, her ears caught the clopping of the approaching cyborg horse’s hooves in the mud. It was going to pass right by both the baron and her.
Two voices rang out at once.
“You can’t . . .” Annette moaned dolefully.
“Hold,” Baron Hayden groaned in a voice mad with resentment.
The rider in black didn’t halt his steed, but rather rode on. He was almost to where the road began its descent.
“Hold,” the baron groaned once more, gnashing his teeth. “My name is Baron Nichol Hayden of the same Xeno clan the Sacred Ancestor honored with control of the southern Frontier wards. I shall not allow you to leave. No, this is unforgivable. No man should be more gorgeous than me.” After drawing a breath, he continued, “Such beauty. You will not always be counted among humans. Tell me your name.”
A flash of light lit the world like midday. Lit the rider.
Annette swooned. Even the rage-twisted Baron Hayden lost himself in rapture for a moment. Though neither of them could see anything but the figure’s back, that alone was enough to refresh the memory of his exquisite features.
The figure in black rode away as easily as if he were on a peaceful lane.
“I shan’t let you go!”
Throng of Heretics Page 2