Scenes from an Unholy War (3 page)

“Like I said, hostiles. People with a score to settle with me, or you and your dad, or maybe the super stud there.”

Lyra looked up at the ceiling. There was a big window open on the wall directly in front of her. When she bounded up for it, she looked like a crimson falling star flying in reverse. However, as she easily reached the window more than fifteen feet off the ground, her body instantly warped like a TV signal rocked by interference. With a base grunt of pain, Lyra was thrown backward. Executing a flip in midair, she managed to gracefully land feet first.

“
Lyra?
”

As if in response to Sheryl’s cry, the warrior woman stood up straight, and then twisted again. Her eyes stretched wide, her mouth shrank down to a dot, and the fingers of her elongated hands grew about as long as she was tall.

“Don’t come near me,” Lyra said, her voice echoing on top of itself. It, too, was warped. “They’ve got a spatial distorter. Everyone, gather in the middle. And don’t touch anything!”

“But what about him?”

“Forget about the infirm. You have to look out for yourself. Hurry up!” 

“Let’s go, Sheryl!” the mayor said, his arm around her shoulder, but when the girl stood up, the scene around them began to change.

The ceiling and three of the walls were warping. Noticing the strange transformation, the horses tethered in the back began whinnying. Then they stopped unexpectedly.

Turning to look at them, Sheryl let out a scream.

Even the horses had been distorted. And the boards that partitioned each animal into a separate stall rolled and bulged like the picture on a poorly tuned TV. The horses were no longer horses at all. With twisted muzzles, legs dripping like molasses, and barrels stretched like serpents, the creatures that stood there were truly bizarre.

“The horses and the walls—they’re all running together!”

“Can’t you do anything, Deputy?” the mayor shouted, stomping his feet indignantly.

“There
is
something I could try,” Lyra replied, her words distorted.

“What might that be?”

“I could hit this field head on. That might do something.”

The color draining from her face, Sheryl shouted at her to stop. “If you did that, you’d be obliterated!”

“That goes with the territory,” Lyra said, her body shaking. The distortion suddenly disappeared—apparently, the spatial distorter hadn’t had a permanent effect yet. Pointing at D, she continued, “I think you’re gonna be fine. If I don’t make it, get him to do whatever needs to be done. And don’t, under any circumstances, allow him to just leave.”

Sheryl didn’t know what to say to that.

“Well, here goes nothing.”

Twisting her upper body around, Lyra poised herself for a running start.

The wind struck her face.

“What’s going on here?” Sheryl exclaimed as the ever-changing stable quaked.

And behold! The ceiling and walls puckered at their centers, rising in a funnel shape before squeezing down into a single stream that was sucked into a spot just a bit off the ground—the palm of D’s left hand, which had been raised off the ground. Who would’ve believed that the tiny mouth that opened on its surface could suck up that distortion field?

The sky howled. The ground quaked. So great was the force of the wind, it left all of them clutching the very hair on their heads. They weren’t overreacting—the wind threatened to yank it from their scalps. The howl of the ferocious gale died, and a second later light filled their world.

The three of them stood out in the stark light of the summer sun. The roof, the walls, and even the horses in the stable had been destroyed. Now they were confronted by four people standing on a familiar street. Three were huge fellows in their forties, while the last was still young. He couldn’t have been more than seventeen or eighteen. A device about the size of a hardcover book hung from a strap around his neck. With a troubled look on his face, the young man backed away.

“What the hell are you doing?” one of the others barked at him.

“I don’t believe it. The distortion field just disappeared!”

“Isn’t that a pity!” Lyra said, stepping forward. Her crimson garb was like the very killing lust that enshrouded her.

“Die, fucker!” one of the men cried, drawing the longsword from his hip and taking a swipe at her with it. It had the razor-sharp tip one would expect from someone who spilled blood for a living, but Lyra parried it with her own blade fresh from its sheath.

There was a mellifluous sound, and the sword flew out of the man’s hand. As if it’d been planned that way, the errant blade plunged straight into the head of the second man, who was charging toward Lyra. It split him open down to his upper lip.

As the second man fell in a bloody mist, the third ran past him, his right hand raised high. The short spear he sent knifing through the air sank into Lyra’s heart.

chapter 2

I

—

L
yra let out a scream. It was a terrifying moment. The force of
the impact spun the warrior woman’s body a full 360 degrees. Something shot from her chest, piercing the third man through the base of the throat and poking out again from the top of his head. Catching the short spear the man had hurled, Lyra had launched it right back. Her scream was intended to make her opponent drop his guard.

As her body spun around, it suddenly warped like a mirage. Without a word, she tumbled forward. Even the blade of the sword she attempted to use as a crutch twisted as if it were rubber.

“Die!” the man whose sword she’d batted away shouted as he dashed past the younger man operating the device. The blade he raised to strike had belonged to one of his cohorts. He was close enough that a slash would cut the woman in two—but then the man jammed on the brakes. With eyes thrown open wide, the man’s face now wore a corpselike rictus. “No . . . No, it can’t be . . . You’re—” The man’s mouth opened and closed like a gasping fish, the words that spilled from it formed by the realization of his fate.

Sheryl and the mayor turned and looked.

“—D,” the man croaked.

The young man in black took a smooth stride forward. His gait was filled with strength. However, his eyes were bloodshot, and sweat dripped to the ground from his chin. Although his foe looked like he was about to die of fright, the Hunter looked like he was about to die of an illness.

“Waste ’im, Goro!” the older man shouted to the young man, who was just as paralyzed as he was. Running over, he took cover behind the younger man’s back.

As if freed from the spell that’d bound him, the young man reached for his keyboard with his right hand. But a death bird spread its wings above him. Though he looked up in fear, the beauty of it left the young man enraptured. Even after he was split from the top of his head down through the chin, his face still wore a look akin to yearning. Falling in a bloody mist, his body had been split in two. The man behind him had also tasted D’s blade. The body that lay on the ground was pelted by a bloody rain.

Not even glancing at the other men who lay there in the stark sunlight, D went over to the young man’s corpse and used the tip of his sword to flick off the power switch.

With a thin cry of pain, Lyra returned to her normal form. Staggering, she used her sword as a crutch to get to her feet, and then surveyed her surroundings. Looking at D, she said, “Seems I’ve been rescued by an invalid.”

But the warrior woman’s eyes glowed with contempt when they focused on the mayor and his daughter, standing stock still where the stable had once been. Although they lived in a rough Frontier village, the pair had just seen a deadly battle played out that undoubtedly seemed like a waking nightmare.

“Now, I don’t want to seem like I’m complaining or anything,” Lyra said, looking down at the corpses of the first man and the youngest one, “but wouldn’t we have been better off leaving one of them alive?”

“Well, you had
him
right in front of you,” D said, turning his gaze to the crimson-stained young man. “But you didn’t cut him down. And it almost got you killed.”

Lyra had no response to that.

“Age has no bearing on what someone’s capable of. A fire dragon’s young will blow flames at its parents from the first second it breaks out of its egg. Out on the Frontier, even a child of three can stab somebody through the heart.”

Choking down the emotion that was building in her chest, Lyra nodded. “You’re right. I screwed up.” Turning to the mayor, she asked, “Recognize them?”

“No, they’re not from around here.”

“Drifters. I’ll go check with the hotel.”

From down the street, there was the sound of an engine drawing nearer. It was a skeleton vehicle, little more than a driver’s seat set on a bare frame with wheels that looked like three barrels lashed together. Not only was it capable of navigating even the roughest terrain, but it could also hit speeds of up to sixty miles per hour. It’d probably been purchased from a traveling merchant, and the rear seats had been ripped out and replaced with square missile launchers. The rockets’ yellow warheads poked from the circular launch tubes. Stretching back from the bulletproof tank beneath the driver’s seat like a fat silver serpent, the exhaust pipe was twice the normal size. It was fueled not by gasoline, but rather by a variety of fungus cultivated on a massive scale all across the Frontier.

Halting the vehicle in front of the annihilated stables, the sheriff hopped down. On seeing the rooted group and the remains of the stables, he asked, “What have we here?” As the mayor was one of them, the lawman’s tone was rather polite.

Lyra gave him a brief rundown of the incident. The hotel’s manager and bellhops rushed to the scene, informing them that the men hadn’t been patrons of theirs, but rather had been staying in tents at the campsite to the west of town.

“Probably killers who move around from town to town. But who hired them, and who were they after?”

After ordering the manager and his bellhops to bring the bodies back to the hotel’s barn, the sheriff cocked his head to one side. “At any rate, I’ll thank you all to head back to my office.”

No sooner did he say this than out of the corner of his eye he saw the figure in black slowly and beautifully sink to the ground.

—

When D regained consciousness, it was just after noon of the next day—and he was in the sheriff’s office.

“I heard about the bat incident at the hotel, too,” the sheriff said, gazing at the now-awake D with a strained look. But his eyes were only half open. It wouldn’t do for him to focus on the Hunter. “It’s possible that scene at the stables was another attempt against you. Until we can make a complete inquiry, I need you to stay here. Fortunately, we already have accommodations.”

“If you need to know the circumstances, I can tell you them now.”

“No, we couldn’t have that. According to the doctor, you need ten days’ rest, with no talking.”

“That doctor’s a quack.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. He’s quite reputable, and better than a hick village like this deserves. We have complete faith in him. Just relax and get better, now.”

“Hey . . .”

“Sorry, but we’ll hold on to your weapon. You’re a key player in this.”

“A key player isn’t the same as a prime suspect. There’s no need to disarm me,” D protested, not without reason.

“This town has a special ordinance about that. Enacted quite recently, actually.”

“Just when are we talking about?”

“This afternoon. It was approved by a village assembly.”

“Who proposed it, you?”

“Yes, me—and the mayor.”

“Give me back my weapon. I’ll be leaving right away.”

As D tried to get out of the creaking bed, darkness enveloped him. It was the combined aftereffects of the sunlight syndrome and the venom from the mutated bats.

As D managed to lie down again, Rust gave him a troubled look, saying, “Now, don’t be that way. At any rate, get some rest. The questioning will wait till later.”

And with that, the sheriff locked the door and left.

Though he was in a tidy little room, apparently it was also used as a cell, and it had iron bars across the windows.

“This is a fine mess, eh?” said the hoarse voice. Despite the topic of conversation, it sounded quite buoyant. “Seems like they’re hell bent on having you as a deputy. If they wanted to, they could even use drugs. That sheriff’s a real piece of work.”

“How soon can I move?”

“My gut feeling is the doctor’s prognosis was on the money. Not for ten days.”

“Do it in three.”

“Hmph! You always want miracles. Make it five. Any less, and the aftereffects will be with you for a long time.”

Nothing from D.

“You’ll just have to be patient. Wouldn’t you be better off playing along with them instead of being sick for ages?”

“Probably.”

“Okay, then the rest is just a matter of negotiations. Leave that to me. I’ll make us enough to cover travel expenses for a year. You keep out of it.”

“I’ll leave it to you.”

“Good. Hey, Sheriff! I wanna talk to you. Get in here!” the hoarse voice cried, its tone on par with the blast of an explosion.

Beyond the window, a woman’s scream rang out. It appeared that his room faced the road. A short time later, the door was jerked open.

“What’s this?” said the hoarse voice.

The crimson cape seemed to dye the entire figure red.

“The sheriff’s gone out on patrol. What do you want?”

“Well, he certainly gets around,” D murmured softly.

“I’ve decided to take you folks up on your offer,” the hoarse voice said in a magnanimous tone. “First, let me tell you my conditions.”

“Where’s that voice coming from?” Lyra inquired coolly.

“What do you mean? From my throat, of course,” the left hand said, pointing toward D’s mouth.

Lyra’s look was one of utter suspicion. “There’s something odd about all this.”

“Wh—what’s that supposed to mean?” the hoarse voice sputtered.

“What’s it pay?” D asked.

Lyra stood bolt upright. Blinking, she replied, “Oh, that’d be the same as my pay. Eighty dalas a month.”

Snorting with laughter, the hoarse voice said, “You must be freaking kidding me! You’re looking at a guy who can pull down a million or two in bounty in one day. Who’d work for that pittance?”

“A sheriff only makes fifty dalas. This is an extremely generous offer.”

“Okay, good enough,” said the hoarse voice.

D furrowed his brow ever so slightly.

Lyra continued, “But eighty dalas is just the base pay. Every time you put down some trouble in town you get an extra ten dalas, and if you arrest a wanted party, it’s twenty more.”

“How much trouble was there last year?” asked D.

“According to the logs, only three incidents. A drunken scuffle, a domestic dispute caused by a cheating spouse, and getting rid of a stray dog.”

“And since you signed on?”

“I took a baker into protective custody after he was stabbed in the ass with a knife.”

“What was that all about?”

“He came home drunk in the wee hours and went into the wrong house. As luck would have it, the man of the house had also been out at the saloon drinking. The baker went into the bedroom without even bothering to turn on the lights.”

There was some stifled but hoarse laughter as the Hunter’s left hand pictured what ensued.

“To make matters worse, it was only about twenty minutes later that the woman’s husband got home.”

“And what does he do for a living?”

“He sharpens cutlery.”

“Now that’s what you call destiny!” the hoarse voice replied.

“Would you knock it off with the ventriloquism,” Lyra snapped.

“Oh, you could tell?”

“Of course so. The least you could do is make it a more pleasant-sounding voice.”

“I wish I could,” D confessed.

“So, you’re fine with eighty dalas?”

“It’s not like I have a choice.”

“Well, in return, we’ll pay you for the whole month even though you don’t start working for another ten days.”

“That’ll be fine.”

His expression hardly suited the young man. It was like being thanked by a gorgeous Grim Reaper. And there were undoubtedly more than a few people who wouldn’t mind meeting the Grim Reaper, if he were this exquisite.

“Then it’s settled.”

Suddenly, the door opened and Rust came in.

The hoarse voice gasped in surprise.

—

II

—

“You’ll be a really great help to us. I’ll go easy on you when it comes time for questioning,” the sheriff said brazenly.

“You mean to tell me you weren’t out on patrol at all?” the hoarse voice spat back angrily.

“I had to play it this way. Lyra’s a lot better at these negotiations than I am. And I bet you enjoyed talking with her a lot more than if it’d been me, am I right?”

The stone-faced D said to him, “Undo that bandanna.”

“Excuse me?”

“Untie it.”

“Sure thing.” Slapping his sun-bronzed neck, the sheriff said, “You don’t see any Noble’s fang marks there, do you?”

D continued, “Just so we’re clear, I apparently won’t be able to work for another ten days. In the meantime, I won’t be any use to you.”

“That’s okay. According to our latest information, the Black Death won’t be coming for at least a month. That’s when we’ll get some work out of you. With the man called D on our side, we could defend a village three times the size of this one.”

“Don’t underestimate them.”

Lyra nodded at that, saying, “He’s right, Rust—I mean, Sheriff. You’ve seen the villages they’ve hit.”

Silence fell, as if the whole world had frozen over. Rust’s hand slowly rose, reaching for the persimmon-orange fabric that covered the nape of his neck.

“Rust,” Lyra said to him. Her voice had a stern, commanding ring, not a tone used between equals.

“I sure have.” Moving the hand from the base of his throat to his hair, Rust scratched his head. “Corpses lying all around, inside and out. Men and women, young and old, all with their throats ripped open. Some of the bodies got their wounds from blades, and others from teeth. And all of it done by human beings—no, by those bastard victims of the Nobility—pseudo vampires!”

His voice was choked with emotion, and a terrible gleam filled his eyes. Both testified to his madness. There was no trace of the courteous sheriff.

“Keep a handle on it, Rust,” Lyra told him.

Nodding, Rust wiped the sweat from his brow. It was a pointless act. Perspiration poured from him with a vengeance. Repeatedly he wiped it away. And as he did so, the shadow of madness gradually began to leave him.

“Sorry you had to see that,” he said.

“You must be tired,” the hoarse voice said sarcastically. It didn’t seem to bother Rust.

Taking several ragged breaths, the sheriff continued, “I’ve been able to ID the ones who wiped out the stables.”

“Oh? That’s pretty quick work for a hick sheriff!” said the hoarse voice.