Vampire Hunter D Volume 13: Twin-Shadowed Knight Parts 1 and 2 (26 page)

Suddenly, the left hand groaned.

Savena had turned to face D. How powerful were the waves from his unearthly aura, and how swift! The proof of this was that the dead around them were turning one after another to look at him.

“Say,” someone called out before long. “Isn't that him?”

“Yes,” someone else replied. “Yes, it's him. Hey, everyone! He is here!”

That cry became a wave spreading out in all directions.

Savena's wagon halted. The throng to the fore and the rear, to the left and the right had brought it to a sudden stop.

“It's him.”

“It's him.”

“It's him.”

They called out repeatedly, but mixed with those were other cries.

“Let me be by your side.”

“Me!”

“Pick me!”

“I am the one for you!”

A chorus of voices rose in the weirdest pleas imaginable. And with both arms extended beseechingly, the speakers began to walk toward D. A march of those who were neither living nor dead. Pale, wraithlike faces, emaciated limbs, and eyes that held death itself—could a more disturbing mob of people exist in all the world? However, their eyes were glazed with rapture at their love for D.

What would they do to D? Would they merely appeal to him, or would their surpassing love drive them to grab him in both arms, hug him tight, and suffocate him? Or would fingers with tenacious strength peel the skin from him, gouge his eyes out, and tear the flesh from his bones? Whatever the case, it didn't seem D would have any means to prevent it.

Beneath the ashen sky, an unimaginable scene was about to unfold—and at just that moment, a figure rose majestically to his feet. It was D. A sudden gust of wind spread his inky black coat, and the features that topped his tall and powerful form were so exquisite, so alluring, and so cold that the dead walking toward him froze in amazement.

“Oh!” somebody moaned.

That was it. None of the others said a word. They'd been blasted in the face by too much of that incredible aura.

D slashed his right hand through the empty air. “Back,” he said. Just a single word.

As for the effect that it had—they did precisely as he said. Donning expressions of utter terror, hundreds of advancing dead winced and backed away.

“As I thought,” the left hand groaned. Its tone was a mixture of pity, surprise, and heartfelt emotion. “They really are his victims—”

“You have the wrong man,” D declared resolutely.

Was it the overwhelming dignity unsuited to one so young that made the living dead back away? No, it was undoubtedly because they'd been struck by his beauty. The young man in black standing so tall beneath the ashen sky was such a vision, he easily gave that impression.

After a period of silence, a voice echoed down the road, saying, “That's right.”

The comment had come from Savena, who still gripped the reins.

“Look at him. There's a strong resemblance, but this man isn't him. Our beloved, the great one, was bigger, blacker, stronger.”

A number of impotent shouts of agreement sailed on the wind.

“Yes . . .”

“Of course . . . That's not him.”

“It's not him.”

“Not him.”

As the feeble voices of the dead spread over the group, the murmuring figures turned forward in succession, beginning to walk again without any signal from anyone, then quickly breaking into a run. Even Savena's wagon was caught up in the tide.

“What's this?” the left hand said in a tone that suggested it'd made some rare discovery.

But even before it spoke, D's eyes had turned toward the rough, arid land to the right of the highway. From up ahead, the fake D was galloping toward them. Though at first all that could be made out was a tiny speck, the horse and rider took shape before long, then the latter became the fake D and halted beside the wagon, all of which took less than a minute.

Having his horse walk alongside the wagon, he asked, “Is that what these characters are? The dead that give this highway its name?”

It came as little surprise his intuition was so good. He was the same as D, after all.

Those of the dead who noticed the arrival of this new D looked at him with surprise, but perhaps due to the earlier incident with D, they immediately looked forward again and made no move to approach him.

“What brings you back here?” D asked.

“Nothing special—but there's nothing at all up ahead,” the fake D said, wrinkling his brow as he gazed forward. A shadowy fatigue or distress—or perhaps both—flowed across his features. “No matter how far we rode, the highway just went on forever. I can tell no matter how far you go, there won't be anything. It's all in vain. Nevertheless, I intended to go on, but my horse dropped to the ground and wasn't having any of it. It wasn't exhausted. As you can see now, it's in perfectly good shape. It'd been caught in the nihilistic mood, you see. Now, cyborg horses are more intelligent and sensitive than ordinary horses, but they still don't turn into nihilists. It's just that it didn't want to go any further. It knows there's nothing out there. So I had no choice but to turn back. These characters have been gathering from all over since the highway was made, but there's no point. There's nothing out there. Of course, the dead don't get tired, so that's not a problem.”

“They're only half dead, to be precise.”

“Zip it,” the fake D sneered, quickly pulling out of the column. “I don't care to make a pointless trip. I'm heading off. Good luck.”

“Yeah, so long!” a hoarse voice called out in a rather relieved tone.

“Sheesh,” the fake D snorted, and he was wheeling his mount around when it happened.

“What's that?” the left hand exclaimed, the very first to say anything.

Up ahead, even beyond the vanguard of the ominous horde—in a spot at least three miles away, there loomed an enormous citadel. Surrounded by ramparts over three hundred feet high and a trio of moats each sixty feet across, the structure that towered at the center bristled with hornlike radar and parabolic antennae, gravity cannons, destroyers, G-time curvature guns, and more, making it look as if the fortress itself were some vicious, loathsome creature.

D gave the fake D a long look. Naturally, the fake was staring forward in a daze. Then, noticing D's gaze, he shouted irritably, “Hey, what's that look supposed to mean? That's a lousy habit I have. That thing wasn't out there, not anywhere—I swear!”

Saying nothing, D gave a toss of his chin at the structure.

“It wasn't there, honestly!”

“It looks like he's right,” the left hand said, oddly enough offering the fake his support. “That castle—there's something funny about it. It sure looks real enough, but it also kinda seems like an illusion, too.”

“That wouldn't really be all that strange,” D said.

Indeed, there was among all the monsters infesting the southern Frontier a creature that could read the thoughts of approaching human beings and give substance to whatever they most desired through the sheer power of its mind. The illusions were perfectly fitting given the creature's nonambulatory and cowardly nature, and the scale of them was simply incredible. For example, a traveler fondly remembering the seaside to the far north would find the vast expanse of icy waters spreading before them exactly as they pictured it, reproduced in just the same grand scale. It wasn't a hallucination. If they touched the ice, it would be cold and stick to the palm of their hand, and if they plunged their hand into the freezing waters, they'd soon be suffering from exposure. The more developed forms of hypnotism could transform an ordinary stick into a branding iron, with blisters forming on any hand that touched it; what this monster created was the real thing. The proof of this was provided by records that described a traveler who was swallowed by a monstrous fish that rose from the icy sea and was never seen again.

However, the eyes that surfaced in the palm of D's left hand turned a gaze that suggested rather philosophical musings toward the stronghold they were rapidly approaching. “But it's not an illusion,” it remarked dolefully. “At least, I think it's not, but even I don't know for sure.”

The fake D said it hadn't been out there. If they were to believe that, then this castle had just now suddenly appeared to occupy this three-dimensional space. All ten million tons of it. That wasn't to say that the Nobility couldn't produce something from nothing with their science. Especially not when it was a massive and mysterious gathering place for the throng of the half-dead who'd been summoned from the surrounding area once the mountain range that'd sealed off the Highway of the Dead for thousands of years had been removed. To be perfectly honest, no matter what happened at this point, it should've come as no surprise.

Yet the left hand persisted, eyes spinning as it said, “Still, it's strange. From what I can see, it's real enough, but something's funny about the way it's built.”

The opportunity to inspect its construction soon presented itself. Having caught sight of Muma, the group quickened its pace, finally breaking into a run, and in less than an hour they'd reached its outer borders. Unable to fight the impetus of those pressing from the rear, a few score of those in the front plunged straight into the moat—although it didn't actually have water in it, and was in fact a sheer drop into an abyss thousands of yards deep. The rest somehow managed to stay on their feet, and the mob swiftly fanned out along the moat, spilling off the highway.

Standing before it, they found the building truly vast. Both the moat and ramparts stretched endlessly to either side, eventually vanishing from sight. There was a veritable forest of structures within ranging from six hundred to a thousand feet high, and when it came to the towers, they seemed as if they must be at least three thousand feet tall with their tapering, rocketlike shapes challenging the heavens. But though this place seemed to have appeared solely for this throng, even after their arrival it remained entirely silent, and there was no sign of anyone there.

“Looks like we're not getting in,” the fake D groused. But it came as little surprise that his eyes were filled with reckless laughter. “Actually, that stone wall over there doesn't seem to have any gates or doors in it anyway. How do they intend to let their visitors in?”

This was a perfectly reasonable query, and D and his left hand said nothing. At that point, cries of surprise suddenly went up.

The fake D was infected by them as well, saying, “Wow! This is incredible. The highway's stretching straight out across the moat!”

-

III

-

The highway crossed the outer, middle, and inner moats, then reached the castle wall. At this point, a hole with the same thirty-foot width as the highway unexpectedly appeared in the wall, which hadn't had a mark or line on it.

There was no way that couldn't be taken as an invitation. The mob of the half-dead became a torrent that surged off the highway and into the fortress. Even D in the wagon and the fake D on his horse were a part of it.

Darkness enveloped the group as they entered the castle.

“What's the story?” the fake D asked D's left hand.

There was no garden beyond the castle wall. Where the half-dead went there was nothing save a deep darkness. Even the light was cut off at the door through which they'd entered. Considering this castle belonged to the Nobility—to vampires—it was only natural.

“Now we're playing hide-and-seek, and we're all it,” the fake D remarked with admiration. While he should have been able to see in the dark as clearly as at midday, this darkness alone he couldn't pierce. And the same went for D.

They knew they were in a vast room. Or perhaps it would be better to call it simply a space, for they couldn't sense so much as a single pillar. They couldn't even tell whether or not this place had walls and a ceiling.

But about this time a certain phenomenon began to occur that, on consideration, made perfect sense. More people were constantly flowing in, but the number in the space had decreased. In the darkness, one person here—or rather, a few dozen—and then more over there went off in all directions. But even though they dispersed, there was clearly some intention behind the way they left, and from the way they moved, that intent didn't seem to be their own.

“They're being selected, eh? Or perhaps I should make that being sorted?” the left hand muttered. Their destinations were being chosen based on some inscrutable criteria.

“So, where do you think we'll be made to go?”

After all, there were more than ten thousand people pouring into the place. Vast or not, the space should've been packed almost instantly, yet it didn't feel the least bit cramped. One after another, people and wagons alike disappeared. The speed and orderliness with which it happened was beyond the pale.

Less than ten minutes after entering the castle, the two Ds realized they were the only ones left. D was astride an unsaddled horse. He'd taken one of the animals that drew Savena's wagon.