CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 6

.

I

.

When D entered the hospital, he was greeted by the stark emptiness of the hallways and the white lighting that made it look as still as the bottom of a lake.

“Welcome,” someone said from behind him.

Turning, the Hunter found a nurse standing there.

“Director Allen is waiting for you. Allow me to show you the way.” Giving a slight bow, she walked ahead. D followed after her. “You know, I had a dream about you, too,” the nurse said.

D didn’t respond. The nurse probably hated him as well. D was the enemy of all who wanted to continue living in this world. Even here in a world where they’d once been fond of the Nobility, there was no place for him.

The two of them got in the elevator. In no time, they arrived at the bottom floor. A hallway devoid of life seemed to continue on without end under the harsh white lights. The nurse’s footsteps were the only sound that rang through the stagnant air. Just as the sound of them stopped, the scene around D grew distorted. It was full of light . . . natural light. What kind of power did one need to turn a subterranean passageway at night into a field in the daylight?

The world was covered with a green so lush it seemed to saturate his eyes. A young man and young lady raced across the plains, apparently headed toward the forest. The sunlight and green grass bestowed their blessings on the couple. The magnanimous will of nature seemed to bid all the joyful things in the world to serve the youthful lovers. The young lady turned. It was Sybille. The boy turned as well. Strong traces of the sheriff’s face were visible. Laughter could be heard. Anyone would love to have such a dream.

D was standing in the forest. A bittersweet odor invaded his nose, and the trees were awash with crimson. It was late autumn. Ripe apples rolled by his feet. Chasing after them, Sybille dashed right at D, passing through his body like a ghost. The sweet product of life drooped from the branches of every tree, sparkling red in the light borne on the wind. Farmers with baskets on their backs smiled as they watched Sybille, and then walked away. Tonight, there’d surely be fat slices of apple pie on the dinner table.

Once again, the scene changed. The distant ringing of a bell shook the falling snowflakes; figures in black overcoats, grouped in twos and threes, lined up and filed into the mere skeleton of a building. It appeared to be the frame for a community hall. Inside were Sheriff Krutz and Sybille. Dr. Allen was there, too, and off to the side stood Ai-Ling and Old Mrs. Sheldon. Snow struck their faces and dyed their overcoats white. The pale lace patterns it left weren’t quick to melt. All present exhaled white plumes as they listened with gleaming eyes to speeches by the mayor and the principal, then prayed for the future of their village.

Gradually the village grew larger. Old folks died, children grew up, clouds rolled by, old houses were rebuilt. Damage due to malfunctioning weather controllers was close to nonexistent here; very few people perished from accidents. On evenings in the spring, little girls changed into white dresses, children ran with fireworks in hand and left a rainbow of sparks in their wake like some fantasy. Everyone hastened down the main street to the site of the dance party being held at the vacant lot. Oddly enough, Sybille didn’t dance even once, but sat enviously watching the men and women cavorting with their partners in the moonlight. The young sheriff danced with Ai-Ling, but as they danced he looked at Sybille. Ai-Ling sadly pressed her cheek to the lawman’s chest. The village was peaceful.

D was in the cemetery. White gravestones in orderly rows paid respect to those now gone. There were also a number of moss-covered marble tombs among them, and as twilight drew near, the children visited and called out the names of those interred there. When a bit more time had passed and the last remnants of the day vanished, deep blue shadows rose from under the gravestones. And then the shadows joined hands with the children to form a big circle and recounted with pleasure tales of the Nobles’ world, showing the villagers graceful dances quite unlike their own and teaching them how to make apple pies. From time to time, one of them would be pained with thirst, so one of the villagers would cut their wrist without any reluctance at all, catching the crimson fluid in an empty milk bottle and delivering it while it was still fresh. Here, consideration and coexistence and sympathy ruled the scene. An ideal had become reality. It was a dream, however, a dream where the dreamer mustn’t awaken.

A faint voice reached D’s ears. This particular voice always sounded so sad. Why have you come? it asked. But not with words. Just with a question. Why have you come here? This is a peaceful village. Isn’t this what you always had in mind?

D didn’t reply. He stood like a beautiful and intricately worked statue.

Eyes beyond numbering stared at him: the sheriff, the hospital director, Old Mrs. Sheldon, the hotel manager, countless other men, women, and children, and those with pale skin and ivory fangs. And Sybille, too.

Remain here, the pale ones said. Live here in peace. No one will shun you here. This is the world he made.

“That’s right,” D said, responding at last. “It was made by drinking the blood of a girl. What about her?”

That can’t be helped. This is a beautiful village. And that was her dream.

“Perhaps it was his dream. The girl called me here. She hasn’t told me what my job entails yet.”

And do you intend to take it?

“I don’t know.”

You are a Vampire Hunter. Don’t concern yourself with this.

A mysterious spark resided in D’s eyes. “You’re right, I am,” he said.

Perhaps some deeper emotion lay behind those words. The intent gazes of the villagers that were trained on him accusingly suddenly froze . . . then glittered brighter than ever.

A heartbeat later, his surroundings were masked by pitch darkness. All that was left was D—and one other person, the hospital nurse.

“Would you lead the way?” D said to her softly.

The nurse turned around. She had Sybille’s face. “Leave, D. Just leave the village,” she said. “Everything will be fine then.”

“Which Sybille are you?”

“I am myself. Please. If you do anything, I’ll cease to exist in this world. Don’t say anything or do anything. Just leave.”

D began to walk slowly.

“D.” Sybille’s expression changed.

D walked away again.

.

Dammit, he’s here. Your brain manipulations don’t seem to be doing the trick, and things are starting to get hairy,” Old Mrs. Sheldon said.

“What’ll we do?” asked Ai-Ling.

“We’ll just leave it all to this world,” Dr. Allen replied.

“But this all originally sprang from Sybille’s dreams. Can it break free of her?”

“I don’t know,” the director said. “After all, Sybille is putting up an awful lot of resistance.”

The crystal shards that made up part of the machine gave off pale purple beams of light.

.

As D calmly walked away, the nurse swung at his back with
her right hand. A knife she’d produced from somewhere glittered there. Before her blade had moved more than a few inches, a flash of silver slashed through her svelte torso. The nurse faded away, too. Even D couldn’t tell whether she was a product of this world or a phantasm conjured up by someone manipulating Sybille’s brain.

Once more the hallway stretched on forever. D halted. A number of doors were lined up on a wall that shouldn’t have had any. He opened the closest one.

The image of Sybille floated in the darkness. “Leave our village,” she said.

D closed the door without saying a word. He then opened the next door. His surroundings were masked by a thick white fog that clung to his skin. “Watch yourself now,” his left hand said. “I can’t quite analyze the components of this stuff. There are dream enzymes mixed in it.”

D looked over his shoulder. The hallway was fading into the mist, too. Direction was ceasing to exist. D advanced toward where the door had been.

There was a slight creaking sound. Quickly enough, he remembered that familiar sound as Old Mrs. Sheldon rocking back and forth in her favorite chair. As she came into view, he saw she had a gray blanket on her lap, a tray with a teapot and steaming cups balancing on top of it. D noticed that the steam they gave off took the color of the sky as it rose in the air. This was all probably an illusion, too.

D’s left hand was a blur of action. A needle of unfinished wood seemed to sprout from the left side of the old woman’s chest. It’d been thrown by D. With the tiniest sound, she collapsed in her rocking chair. The old woman’s body then disappeared.

“Seems whoever it is isn’t as powerful as the dreamer,” the Hunter’s extended left hand said. “Still, you can’t let your guard down. If we get taken out, it might mean more than us just vanishing. Here it comes!”

By “it,” the voice meant the bluish smoke spreading through the air that was heading for them. No sooner had D held his breath than the smoke dropped, like it had real weight, and crushed around his upper body.

A flash of silver shot out. Two silvery slashes formed a cross that quartered the blue smoke, but it quickly fused together again and rushed through the air in pursuit of D as he leapt away. Trying to leap again, D found his feet stuck to the ground. Old Mrs. Sheldon lay on the floor, and she had a grip on the Hunter’s ankles. D’s upper body turned blue. He could feel the smoke seeping in through his skin.

The wind howled as the blue smoke became a single stream that was sucked into D’s left hand. In less than a second, the world of white had returned. His left hand coughed. On the surface of his palm, a human face swiftly formed. “Shit . . .” it gasped. “Damn smoke . . . Probably shouldn’t have swallowed that.”

“It works by osmosis,” D said, not seeming the least bit upset.

“I’m analyzing it now, so keep your pants on. Gonna have to try breaking the dream down to the elementary particle level.” Just then, the voice gagged, and the tiny mouth disgorged blue smoke. It almost looked like he was blowing out a long drag from a cigarette.

Mingling with the white fog, the smoke soon vanished.

“I’ve got it! This stuff is—?!”

Suddenly, the cries of D’s left hand were interrupted by a bizarre chill enveloping the Hunter’s frame. With a sickeningly loud tearing sound, furry tentacles burst out all over his body. A monster within him—created, perhaps, by the combination of the smoke and the blue petal tea the old woman had given him before—was being born. Wriggling tentacles ruptured D’s chest, stomach, and face. The back of his head flew off and something that looked like a cross between a spider and a scorpion peered out.

D’s left hand grabbed the creature by the neck. It was like a vision of hell. With just one hand, D yanked out the creature that’d formed in his body. Flesh ripped and bones snapped. As the creature plopped to the ground, D’s longsword split its brain in two. D stood there impassively.

“Well, I must say, I’m downright amazed at your power today,” someone said with admiration. “If you weren’t fully aware this world is no more than a dream, I fancy you’d be in a body bag right about now.”

D turned around completely. There was no trace of the old woman, but D perceived her presence, despite the fact that she couldn’t be seen.

Not at all ruffled, D began to walk. Even as he made his way through the fog, he maintained his impressive good looks. After taking a few steps, he halted. Ai-Ling stood before him.

“D,” she said.

He couldn’t tell if she’d shouted it or whispered it. Nevertheless, D continued walking once more.

“Wait! I’m the same Ai-Ling you met before!” Hers was a sorrowful cry. Surely it was painful that she even had to say this. Living with a husband who’d fallen for her best friend, stoically defending her home and family even though she knew her husband still loved the other girl—what had become of this woman’s true nature? Was this just a role she played?

“Step aside,” D said softly. “I have to go see Sybille.”

“Stay here in the village, or forget about seeing her and just leave.”

“Tell Sybille to let me,” the Hunter replied.

“If you’ll stay here in our village . . . in our world . . . I’ll always—”

D kept walking. Ai-Ling didn’t move. Putting his hand to her shoulder, D pushed her out of the way. It was a gentle nudge that wasn’t like the young man. There was a door behind him.

“D . . .” Ai-Ling mumbled behind him. “Kill me . . .”

D grabbed hold of the doorknob. Behind him, the air stirred violently, and he went into action.

Ai-Ling had a knife in her right hand and had tried to stick the Hunter with it, but D grabbed her wrist with his left hand.

“I’m begging you, D,” she said. “Please, just kill me . . . I can’t die on my own, you see. This world just brings me back to life. But if you were to cut me down . . .”

D—the bringer of death—made a motion with his black-gloved hand and Ai-Ling fell to the floor. By the time low sobs spilled from her, the young man in black had disappeared through the door. He hadn’t so much as glanced at the hysterical woman.

He was in the feeble darkness of the hospital room. Next to the bed sat a device, and next to that stood the hospital director.

“Here at last,” Dr. Allen said happily. He wasn’t talking about the Hunter.

D turned around.

Two figures appeared on the far side of the room—a huge man sitting on a horse and a little man lying on the back of a black panther. Though the room was small, there was more than enough space between them and the Hunter.

“D, I take it? We’ve heard talk about you,” the man on the horse said. The ring of fear in his voice was probably due to his believing the talk they’d heard. “I’m Harold B., the senior Bio Brother. That there’s my kid brother.”

“Duncan B. is the name.” The eyes of the little man and the panther brimmed with unearthly hostility as they looked up at D.

“We meet at last. We don’t mind if we get destroyed,” Harold said from over by the window. “Of course, if you take us down here, it looks like we’ll be brought right back to life anyway. I don’t suppose you’re gonna turn around after all this and say you’ll just settle down all peaceful-like in the village, now will you?” Harold brought his left hand to the breast pocket of his coat, pulled out something shiny, and tossed it at D’s feet. It was a silver star.

In a heartbeat, the entire room froze. The director, the brothers, and even the black panther all saw something there so terrifying that it made their hair stand on end. D’s eyes gave off a blood light. The instant it faded, the panther leapt without making a sound.

Bisecting the animal with the silvery flash that shot up from below, D held his longsword at the ready again. Just now, the panther’s body had offered no more resistance than cutting through thin air. Instantly, the black panther was over by the wall again, its eyes wildly ablaze with a lust for killing. A moment later, the two halves of its bisected torso were connected again. Both the man on the horse and the one on the panther smirked. When the front half of the panther thudded to the floor, however, Harold’s eyes filled with the first real look of fear.

“You . . . You sonuvabitch . . .” moaned the little man who’d tied his own life, or at least his upper body, to that of his beloved beast.

Not even bothering to look at the little man, D leveled his longsword at the man on the horse. “One on one won’t be easy for you,” the Hunter said in a low voice.

Harold gave a little nod. “Yep, we must’ve been out of our minds, I suppose, to throw down with Vampire Hunter D, of all people.”

“Hold on, there. It still ain’t over yet . . .” Duncan groaned from the floor. Copious amounts of dark red blood gushing from his wound, he dragged himself toward D. The sword the little man held in his right hand was proof enough he hadn’t given up the fight yet.

D advanced smoothly. Not toward Harold, but rather toward Duncan. Though his foe could do no more than crawl, the Hunter’s cruel blade came down at an angle, decapitating not only Duncan, but his black panther as well. Without a moment’s delay, D leapt into the air and thrust his gore-stained blade right through Harold’s chest. As the huge man dropped helplessly, the Hunter lopped off his head. The geysers of blood didn’t erupt from the wounds until a second after D landed again.

Intensely silent, D turned to the hospital director.

“So, that finishes it, then?” said Dr. Allen. “You are one fearsome character, to be sure. Exactly what we’d expect from the one chosen to save our princess from her eternal slumber.”

“I can’t wake her up,” D told him flatly. “All I want to know is what I’m supposed to do. Give this Sybille back her dream.”

“If I refuse, will you cut me down?”

The Hunter didn’t reply.

The hospital director soon nodded. His hair was standing on end. “This may be a dream, but still,” Dr. Allen said, “I’m afraid to die.”

The Hunter watched as the man reached for the machine with both hands. A second later a burning hot blade ran into D’s back and out through his chest. Turning, he met Harold’s face, which was plastered with a hideous grin.

“Too bad, eh?” Harold said with a wink. “And, you know, I ain’t the only one still kicking. My kid brother’s fit as you please, too.”

The panther head on the floor bared its fangs, and the two halves of its torso balanced uneasily on two legs each. Of course, part of Duncan remained on top of all three pieces.

“The two of us are the product of some science from thousands of years ago—what they called biotechnology,” the older brother explained. “See, we were made to be different, right down at the cellular level, namely, like this.”

As he said that, Harold thrust his chest forward. It was literally as if he’d shed his skin. A semi-translucent Harold broke free of his body, floating a few feet in front of the spot where his physical body stood. And then, almost simultaneously, this new form took the color and texture of his original body. Then, his original body suddenly lost its color and substance, becoming like the reflection of a statue in a pool before disappearing without a sound.

Pulling these false images from his actual body, he could produce copies of himself. Perhaps even D hadn’t imagined his opponent could form doppelgangers like this. Harold B. used these false images to confuse his foes while his real body crept around behind them and brought down a lethal blow with his weapon.

His younger brother, on the other hand, had vastly accelerated cellular activity. As a result of this, his limbs could continue to function even after they were severed from his body, and he could fuse with other living creatures to make them do his bidding. Who could hope to be a match for these brothers?

“End of the road, Hunter,” the older brother said. Perhaps knowing something of D’s nature, Harold didn’t pull out the blade he’d run through the Hunter, but rather drew another one and lashed out with that. A heartbeat later, the arm wielding the new blade fell to the floor, severed at the shoulder. Realizing D had accomplished this with his sword without turning, and with a blade still stuck through his heart, Harold sputtered, “You sonuvabitch . . . You’re no plain old dhampir . . . are you?!” With one hand clamped down on his shoulder while fresh blood gushed from the wound, Harold shook all over with pain and rage.

The only reason he managed to avoid the full damage of the flash of silver that zipped through the air was because D was fighting with a knife still stuck through his heart. It was a frightening display of stamina, the way the Hunter stood with only the slightest wobbliness before quickly shifting to the most exquisite combat stance. Harold and his indestructible brother Duncan, who still lay on the floor, backed away with a tinge of amazement in their eyes.

With his right hand leveling his blade at the two brothers, D reached around to his back with his left. Grabbing the knife by the handle, he jerked it free. And yet, the blade protruding from his chest seemed to go in precisely the opposite direction, pushing out further! For a heartbeat, D’s expression seemed tinged with pain.

Three objects flew toward him. The black panther’s head, its forequarters, and the hindquarters from which they’d been sliced. While the two halves of the torso each had a pair of legs, how the head had launched itself into the air was a mystery. Baring fangs that grew long and curved like those of a sabertooth tiger, the head made a huge turn in midair, bringing its jaws down toward the top of D’s head.

A flash of silver light ripped through the beast from its fang-filled upper jaw to the base of its snout, and D sailed through the air without a sound. His coat fluttered out to deflect both halves of the torso.

A split second before the Hunter landed, the world around him spun a hundred and eighty degrees. The floor was above him, the ceiling below—and yet, D was still on his way back toward the floor. An odd sensation struck D, completely upsetting his sense of equilibrium. Although gravity was pulling him down toward the ground, his senses were telling him exactly the opposite.

“Kill him!” Harold shouted from horseback.

The fangs and claws closed down on D from above—although to the Hunter, it felt like they were coming from below. The teeth jutted from the severed upper jaw. There really weren’t words to convey how bizarre it actually looked.

In an incredible display of skill, D parried the attacks—and fell to his knees. Fresh blood dripped from his chest, staining the floor.

“Your death in this world will mean death in reality,” Dr. Allen said from somewhere unseen.

And it was at that very moment that D’s form warped.

“No!” Dr. Allen screamed, but he wasn’t alone. Harold B. cried the very same thing. The knife that’d left his hand had gone through D’s body and stuck in the wall.

“He vanished . . .” Harold muttered in disbelief. A flash of silver had gone right past the end of his nose, knocking a crystal shard from the machine next to the bed.

“Damnation!” Dr. Allen shouted.

Harold’s vicious gaze shifted to the bed with intense speed. Even after seeing the sorrowful visage of the beauty lying there, the beastly light didn’t fade from his eyes. “What happened?” he asked. “Was it because that machine of yours started acting up?”

“No,” the director said, shaking his head. “It’s not the machine’s fault. Control of this world is shifting, you see. But it’s essentially the same as if the device had been destroyed.”

“What are you gonna do?” Sounding very much like a curse, Duncan’s question drifted up from the floor. He looked over the head of his panther, which had its snout sliced off, with eyes as red as blood and glaring at the hospital director. “If you just let him be, he’s gonna see Sybille. And if that happens . . .”

“We’re finished,” Old Mrs. Sheldon said from the doorway. “If I were you, I’d be trying to come up with another way to stop that real fast. But it don’t matter all that much to me.”

The old woman sounded easygoing, apathetic even, but her words made Dr. Allen knit his brow. “There’s still a way,” he said. “Just you wait. Dream or not, a whole world is no easy thing to destroy.”

.

II

.

D was back in the vacant lot—the same lot as always. The grass glistened in the moonlight and swayed in the breeze, just as it had when he left.

“Just so you know, that wasn’t my doing,” said the voice that spilled from D’s left hand.

Ignoring the remark, D said, “Shall we take a little nap?” He must’ve known it was Sybille that’d transported him here from the hospital. The machine keeping her dreams in check was destroyed by Harold’s dagger, which D threw just before he vanished. A vermilion stain spread across his chest.

“I suppose we should,” his left hand said. “Two forces are competing for this world. Both are pretty tough. As a result, the opposition’s just gonna keep escalating. But enough about that—I guess we should find you a bed, eh? If you’ve gotta go to sleep, at least after what just happened you’re nice and tired for it.”

D turned around. His cyborg horse was tethered to a tree not far away—his mount had been transported, too. “Watch the place while I’m gone,” he said. And with that, he walked over to the nearby grove.

“Very interesting,” his left hand said. “Plan on sleeping here, do you? You’ve got nerve, I’ll give you that. They’ll find you here in a second.” The voice sounded almost excited about the proposition, as if the idea of D getting killed was so entertaining he could barely contain himself. For D, it would be the same no matter where he slept. The whole world was his enemy. But knowing this, he still chose to go back to sleep in the vacant lot, the very first place his foes would think of looking for him—indeed, he was no ordinary young man.

As he lay down, a slight sigh spilled from his thin lips. Most likely it was just his chest wound having its say. Of course, no one else would ever know for sure. D’s sorrow, his joy, and his pain belonged to him alone.

Taking the longsword off his back and setting it down in the bushes to his left, D shut his eyes. Immediately, he was enveloped in blue light. He was in the hall of the mansion and a sad but sweet melody twined around him, and then flowed away. Why had Sybille chosen music so light but so sad?

A number of shadowy forms flowed in around D. The next thing he knew, the figures in the hall had begun to sway. The graceful steps of dreamers. Voices humming with laughter. Weaving his way through men and women who were like phantoms, D came to the center of the hall. All movement stopped. The dancers remained with hands together, chatting guests still held champagne glasses, all of them frozen for eternity in those poses. All except one—Sybille.

Saying nothing, D stared at the pale girl who stood there quietly. “It’s about time you finally told me what it is you need,” he said. “What do you want from me?”

“Please, kill me.”

What had she said?

Could the words of this pale young lady, the one with these beautiful dreams, have said this? Please, kill me.

D’s face was reflected in the black of Sybille’s pupils. He was cold and beautiful . . . and completely removed from the deeper emotions.

“Why don’t you just go on dancing like this?” the Hunter asked. “This night will never end. This is what you wanted. He knew that when he bit you.”

D turned his eyes to one of the nearby dancers. The man’s face was the color of darkness, but the fangs in his mouth were conspicuous. And his partner was an ordinary woman. It was a dance party for humans and Nobility—hand in hand in a world swimming with kindness and blue light. But what could all this mean if the Noble responsible for this had known about it, too? Perhaps the one who bit Sybille and made this wish of hers come true had wanted the very same thing. In the end, however, it had come down to this—

“Please, kill me,” Sybille repeated. Her words were sincere—no anger, no pain, no weariness in them. That was what she desired from the very bottom of her heart.

“If you die,” he said, “it will all fade away. As will this world. And everyone you’ve made. And everything they’ve dreamed.” The Hunter’s words were heavy with conviction. Could the young lady truly wish for death if it meant throwing everything away?

“Kill me—” she said.

D turned around to leave.

The hem of her white gown flapping wildly, Sybille dashed out in front of him. “Please, don’t go. Don’t leave until you’ve killed me. That’s the whole reason I brought you here.”

Not even bothering to shake free of her hands, D left the hall.

“Kill me,” Sybille pleaded, tears glistening in her eyes.

D stopped on the veranda. On the brick path that led to the iron gate there stood a figure in black, an arrow already notched in his bow. “So, if I won’t kill her, then they’ll kill me?” D muttered. Was that how badly she wanted to die even though she had the perfect dream?

“I’m begging you.”

Giving the girl no reply, D went down the stone stairs. The bow shook slightly. D’s left hand raced out for the steel arrow howling through the air. Realizing that the little mouth in his palm had stopped his missile, the figure in black was thoroughly shaken.

Using the moment as an opening, D made a mad dash. As the shadowy figure kicked off the ground, a deadly thrust stretched toward his torso. The blade went into his chest through his black garments. Leaving only the jolt of that contact behind, the man leapt back to the iron fence.

D threw his sword, his beloved blade—a truly frightening move. It pierced the man’s heart, went right through him, and didn’t stop until it struck one of the iron bars of the gate.

D looked around. There was no sign of his foe in front of the iron gate. Then D saw him behind it, holding the left side of his chest as it dripped bright blood, slowly retreating into the depths of the forest.

Removing his sword from the fence, D pushed against the gate. With a slavering sound, his left hand spat out the arrow, and the missile fell against the bricks. A chain had been wound around the gate repeatedly. Raising his right hand, D swung it back down without particular difficulty. White sparks flew, and the chains dropped off like a lifeless serpent.

“Please, don’t go,” Sybille said, her voice mingling with the creak of the iron gate. “If you won’t kill me, I’ll—”

“—kill me?” D said.

Kill to destroy. Kill to not be destroyed.

“That’s a human for you,” the voice in his left hand muttered.

At that moment, pale blue sparks shot from the iron gate. D furrowed his brow as purplish smoke and faint groans rose from his left hand as it wrapped around the fence.

“Don’t go. I beg of you!”

D pushed the gate open. All at once, the wind buffeted him. The moonlight scattered, and the forest wailed. Shredded leaves whirled around D like a cyclone. Fine lines of vermilion raced across his pallid cheeks. The foliage had become razor-sharp fragments of steel that slashed his skin.

Like great black wings, the hem of his coat spread, whistling as it dropped again. Every bit of airborne foliage was batted away, and they imbedded themselves in the ground.

“Stop your idle threats,” said the Hunter. “If you want to be killed, you’d better try to kill me, too.”

“But . . . If I did that . . .” Sybille said, her voice borne on the wind.

D’s left hand chuckled with delight. “That was an awful thing to say. But at least you’re showing your true colors . . .”

The left hand then gave a muffled cry of pain as D squeezed the melted flesh into a tight fist and walked away.

“Where do you think you’re going?” the woman called out. “Unless you wake up, you can’t get out of here. There’s nowhere for you to go.” Her voice seemed to follow him forever.

No place to go. For D, that made this place no different than anywhere else.

Thunder rumbled in the distant sky.

.

Nan entered the vacant lot. It was a pale, moonlit night. Her eyes were incredibly sharp, and she just couldn’t get to sleep. Her quarrel with Kane was part of it, but at the same time, she was also aware that it wasn’t the main reason. As she lay in bed, she couldn’t close her eyes without seeing that Hunter’s face. It rose in her heart just like the pale moon.

She’d gone outside to cool her head a bit. As the wind pushed her around her yard, she’d gotten an urge to go for a walk, and the next thing she knew, she was on the path that led to the vacant lot. She didn’t have the faintest idea why she was going there.

On entering the lot, she immediately spotted D leaning back against a tall tree at the edge of the grove with his eyes shut. Jealousy filled her as she surmised that he was probably visiting Sybille’s mansion. Muffling her footsteps, she walked over to his side.

As the girl gently reached out to touch D’s shoulder, his eyes opened. Unfathomable in their hue, his eyes gazed at the paralyzed and dumbstruck Nan. “I’m glad you woke me up,” he said. “Well done.”

“Sure,” Nan replied, her eyes wide. She had no way of knowing D had been stuck in a dead end in the dream world.

“What brings you here?”

“You—you’re covered in blood . . .” the girl stammered.

“The wound has healed.”

“But it looks awful,” she said. “Come to my house. I’ll clean it up for you.”

“Just leave it be,” D said, lightly shutting his eyes. Then he quickly asked, “Did you make up with that boy you were arguing with earlier?”

“Why, that’s—” Nan began, about to tell him it was none of his business, but in the end she merely shook her head. The gorgeous young man, arrogant and cold-blooded, had suddenly looked so isolated and weary to her. Though she couldn’t tell what his hat, boots, and coat were made of, there wasn’t a loose thread or a mark on them. But the body they sheltered had no place to call home, and the reality of that hit her painfully hard. Surely this young man hadn’t known even one night’s peace. Tears filled Nan’s eyes as she closed them, trying to chalk her own reaction up to adolescent sentimentality. Wiping away her tears, she opened her eyes again. D was looking up at her, and she began to blush.

“What’s wrong?” asked D.

“Nothing. Please, don’t say anything to scare me.”

“Are you still afraid of me?”

Nan had no reply.

“You’re the only one who dreamt of me three times. Do you have any idea why?”

“None whatsoever.” As D’s gaze left her, Nan damned her luck. “Um—aren’t you even gonna ask me what I’m doing out here?” Though she’d broached the matter timidly enough, D didn’t answer her. Nan could’ve cursed herself for asking such
a stupid question. “I couldn’t get to sleep, so I decided to go for
a walk. It’s not like I went out looking for you or anything. Don’t get the wrong idea.”

While she realized she was just going to end up hurting herself, she couldn’t help speaking. She’d probably hate herself in the worst way for it later.

“It’s a lovely night,” D said suddenly. “Quite appropriate for a peaceful village. Do you wish it could always be this way?”

Not fully understanding what he was getting at, Nan nodded anyway. She just felt like she had to. “This is where I was born,” she said. “There’s no place else quite as nice.”

“Ever thought about leaving?”

Nan shook off the moonlight. “You mean to go to some distant village?” she asked. “Sure, I’d like to go, but I don’t know what I’d find there. That scares me.”

“How about your boyfriend?”

“You mean Kane? Give him another year and I’m sure he’ll zip out of the village like an eagle freed from a snare. All the boys are like that. They’re not the least bit afraid of the unknown. Or maybe they go because they’re afraid.”

Out on the Frontier, there weren’t all that many young people who left their home villages. For villages that relied solely on local industries to support themselves, young people were an irreplaceable labor force—more precious than anything. Because the young men and women themselves understood this, the vast majority of them were destined to reach maturity, grow old, and go to their eternal reward all in that same village. Still, there were some young people who set out seeking the world beyond their village, while the ones that remained at home kept their love of unexplored territory burning deep in their hearts, with all the fire of a youth’s feverish imaginings.

“How about Sybille?” D asked. His voice stirred the moonlight.

A strange turmoil engulfed Nan. Her lips trembling, she said the name of the dreamer. Why did D ask her such a thing when she’d never known her as anything but a slumbering princess?

“I don’t know . . .” Nan replied, not surprisingly. “But . . .”

D watched the girl quietly.

“But I think a girl like her would just stay here and pass her whole life in the village, even if she wanted to go somewhere else. And if her own children wanted to leave, it would bother her, but she’d keep her peace and watch them go. After all, what she wanted more than anything was a peaceful village.”

“Compared to other places, this village has a lot more young people who leave. Do you folks ever hear from them?”

“Yeah, sure,” Nan said, nodding firmly. It was almost guaranteed that the young birds who left the nest would send money and letters back to their families. On very rare occasions, when the parents wished to see their children living in distant lands, back they came, as if they knew of their family’s desires.

D listened, not saying a word. Somehow, Nan got the feeling he might be bidding this world farewell, but she quickly discounted that notion. He wasn’t the kind of person who’d have anything to do with sentiment.

“I kinda get the feeling I know why she called you here,” Nan said. Even she was startled by how smoothly the words came out. “Mind if I tell you?”

“Go ahead.”

“Because you don’t have any connection to this village or our world. I don’t know why that’d be important, I just think it’s the reason she chose you. Because you’re someone who won’t be moved by the joy or grief Sybille feels while she sleeps, or by the hopes and despairs of our world. You come, you go. That’s the kind of person you are.”

Once she finished speaking, she had the feeling it hadn’t been a nice thing to say, but D didn’t seem to mind in the least; he just kept staring straight ahead. As she gazed at his perfect profile, Nan felt a fire she’d never really known before welling up in her heart. While she was fully aware he wasn’t the kind of person who got involved with others, that made her feel all the more like she wanted him to be someone special. And she wanted him to feel the same way about her. She’d seen D more than anyone else in the village had, after all. This thought rose from the deepest reaches of Nan’s psyche, easily weaving its way through the safeguards of rationality before it moved the girl’s hand. Another thought, a different thought.

The girl’s fingers touched D’s shoulder. Somewhere inside her, an image of Kane may have remained, but it swiftly vanished. “D,” Nan said to him, “this is probably the last time I’ll ever see you.”

She had no proof of that, but it just felt so incredibly true. Nan quietly brought her cheek to rest on a powerful shoulder that spoke volumes about how solid he was. It was the only thing she could do, even though she’d seen his face in her dreams three nights more than the rest of the villagers.

D didn’t say a thing. At least Kane would’ve hugged her to his chest and stroked her hair.

“D,” Nan said, not expecting anything, but still wanting something nonetheless. Once more she called his name, but it was then that she was pushed away, and the Hunter rose with such speed he whipped up a black wind.

“Stand back,” was all he said. Ringing cruelly as the crack of a whip, the words drifted off into the forest as Nan and D both turned their gaze in the same direction.

“Papa—” the girl cried out reflexively when she saw what was clearly her father at the entrance to the vacant lot. And it wasn’t just him. “Mama, and Kane, too?!”

Perhaps the three figures had heard her voice, because they looked at each other and hastened closer.

“Nan, what in blazes are you doing in a place like this?” her father shouted, but the girl averted her face from his admonishment.

“We looked in on your bed and found you gone. And Kane was so worried, he came along, too,” Nan’s mother said, driving the girl’s spirits still lower.

“I suppose you’re gonna tell us you didn’t lure her out here, eh?” Kane spat, his fiery words prompting all to turn in his direction.

D was in front of the boy. The Hunter stood a head taller than him. Though the other man was like a massive wall before him, Nan’s boyfriend focused every bit of defiance he could muster on the Hunter.

“Kane, he had nothing to do with it,” Nan protested. “I came up here on my own, I’ll have you know. I couldn’t get to sleep.”

“Now, you listen to me,” the boy said, thrusting a trembling finger at D. “Me and Nan are gonna get married one of these days. I don’t take kindly to some lousy wanderer coming in and dirtying her up.”

“Kane, quit it. I don’t recall promising you any such thing.”

“Hush, Nan,” her mother said in an attempt to stop her. “At any rate, if nothing’s happened, then we’re fine. C’mon, let’s go home.”

“And I’ll thank you not to come nosing around these parts again,” the girl’s father said as he glared at D.

“I just can’t walk away,” Kane said, shaking his head. “Someone takes my girl out in the middle of the night, and you think I’m gonna just let that go? Duel me!”

Nan felt like she’d been paralyzed. “What did you say?!” she shouted. “Stop it, Kane!” But it was the next words she heard that made her hair stand on end.

“Fine. Let’s do it,” D replied.

Dumbfounded, Nan turned to her father. Stern as ever, his expression plastered a look of ghastly terror to his daughter’s face. “Papa?!” she exclaimed.

“It’s no use. Come with me,” Nan’s mother said, grabbing hold of the girl’s shoulders and dragging her back. Even her mother was going along with this . . .

She watched as her father said, “Here,” and handed Kane an ax. Just as he took it, Kane backed away a few steps, and Nan’s father stepped back, too. D stood still. Completely forgetting to put up any kind of struggle against her mother, Nan was rooted to the spot. What was happening was so hard to believe that she thought it must be a nightmare. At that moment, there was a weirdly colored explosion of light inside her head. This is a nightmare. A dream . . . I’m—

A weird cry brought the girl’s eyes around in D’s direction. Kane had brought his ax down. It whined through the air. Though it didn’t look like he’d done anything at all, D had smoothly moved over to the grass. The air was crushed with a heavy whoosh! The very instant a horizontal flash seemed to be swallowed by the Hunter’s black torso, a streak of silver shot up from below, causing Kane’s hand and the ax it gripped to vanish. Nan held her breath. D watched silently as Kane collapsed backward with a cry like a beast. Behind the Hunter, another figure was drawing closer.

“Papa?!” the girl exclaimed, but her cry wasn’t as fast as the sword that pierced her father’s chest as he was about to pounce. Slumping across D’s back, the girl’s father let the machete he’d hidden fall from his hand, and a cry of pain spilled from his mouth. By the time he hit the ground, he was already dead.

“Papa! How could you do such a thing?!”

Flicking the gore from his blade with a single shake, D headed for his horse without saying a word. “I don’t want to kill, but I can’t die just yet, either,” he finally said. And then his words were all that remained in the night air.

As Nan stood there frozen in her mother’s arms, her brain incapable of forming even a single thought, she heard the sound of dwindling hoofbeats ringing in her ear.

.

III

.

So, what are you gonna do?” D’s left hand asked with laughter in its voice as the Hunter galloped for the edge of the village. “Some want you to wake her up, and some don’t—and both sides are pretty damn serious about it. Hell, both sides are trying to settle the battle themselves. To be destroyed, or not be destroyed? You’re the man of destiny for them. What kind of star were you born under?”

“I’m leaving the village,” D said as they tore through the blue darkness ahead of them.

“It’s no use. This is a dream world. You can’t leave unless the dreamer lets you.”

“Take in the wind,” the Hunter said. His words were as hard as the slap of a gale.

Almost immediately, his left hand went out by his side as if to challenge the winds buffeting him, and his palm inhaled with an incredible whistling sound.

“We’ll make it out at this rate,” the Hunter said, but it wasn’t clear if the remark was directed at his left hand or himself. D’s feet struck his mount’s flanks, and the creature galloped on madly.

D turned to the right suddenly and caught sight of a black shape racing right with him along the fence. It was the black panther.

The instant D saw Duncan sitting there on the beast, a flash flew from the Hunter’s right hand and his reins sailed through the air.

The rough wooden needles sank into Duncan with fierce accuracy. But a heartbeat later, the panther’s charging body split into three parts, all of which leapt straight for D. As they came down at him, the fangs and claws grew like silver serpents. All of them were deflected with a beautiful ring, and, as they hung in the air helpless and unprepared for another engagement, the Hunter’s weapon once again flashed out. This time, the three pieces were bisected by a horizontal slash, but by the time the bloody mist shot out, D had already galloped ahead another forty feet. Behind him, the forelegs and hind legs gave chase—though they were now reduced to mere chunks of flesh. The distance grew swiftly between him and the remnants.

Ahead of him, a stand of high trees was visible. D was at the edge of the village. Perhaps he had a chance of escaping after all.

His left hand reached out before him. A human face formed on its palm—and the lips on that face pursed. The wind howled. Before, it had inhaled, but now it exhaled.

It wasn’t clear exactly what kind of infernal manipulations his palm might’ve done to the air in the interim, but the scenery ahead of it began to quiver like mist. Like a thin sheet of paper shredding in the face of a hurricane, the fence and the forest beyond grew hazy. Behind them, another scene came into view—though there was no way to gauge the distance to it. A vague, phantasmal grove of trees and a dawn sky—that had to be the real world out there.

His horse picked up speed. Just before the fence, its four hooves left the ground in a mighty leap. Headlong, it rushed at a scene that was like a double exposure in some gorgeous, mesmerizing film. But the beast floundered in midair.

Leaving his horse as it dropped like a stone, D sailed through the air, then came back to earth. His sword raced out, deflecting a knife flying at him.

“Just as I expected. When I go after you head on, I ain’t much of a threat.”

D threw his gaze in the direction of the voice, having determined that the knife had come from the huge form on horseback lurking behind the trees. It was none other than one of the infamous Bio Brothers—Harold B.

“And that’s exactly why I’m gonna take you on from every which way—Look!” With these words, Harold’s body bent backward, and a false image pulled free from him.

A wooden needle shot out, passing in vain through the original body before imbedding itself in a tree behind it.

The false image grinned at the Hunter. Another transparent image flew to the fore. But the one that’d created it didn’t fade, and the newer image also went on to create another false image, as did the one it made, and the one after that—and in the space of a few seconds, the area around D was filled by countless images of Harold. That wouldn’t have been a problem if it was clear which one of them was real, but there was no sign of the true Harold. Even D, with his incredibly acute senses, found all the false images to be exactly like the real thing.

“This time, we’ll be using these,” dozens of mounted Harold images declared in unison, showing the weapons they had in their right hands: rough wooden stakes. “I hear these things work just dandy on dhampirs, too. And just so you know, we’re all real. If there’re a hundred of us, we’ll drive a hundred stakes into you. Except we’re gonna do it a little differently. Like this!”

Streaks of white light flew from the right hands of a few of them. As the whirling stakes rained down on him from horseback, D became a black wind and dashed into action.

Perhaps the images of Harold in the foremost ring knew what they were doing as they called out to attack in low voices, each with a stake in one hand. The question remained: what would happen when the lone beautiful figure collided with the countless black ones?

If Harold’s plan had a single miscalculation, it was from experience rather than the lack of it—and from conjectures he’d made about D’s speed and strength with a sword based on their previous battle. None of the wooden stakes the false images brought down met anything but air. Every time the black shape moved between them like a mystic bird with the hem of his coat flashing out around him, countless Harold images were cut in half, merging with the air as they vanished.

Less than twenty seconds later, D stood motionless and alone on the clear, moonlit ground. “What are you going to do? If you retreat now, then there was no point calling you at all,” the Hunter said in a low voice.

There was no answer for him, only a cold wind blowing by.

D’s gaze dropped to the corpse of his horse lying there on the ground. A knife was sunk deep into its neck. “Can we make it out without any acceleration?” he asked.

“Not on your life,” his left hand replied. “At times like this, what you need is for someone to just plunk you down a brand new horse right here and now. You know, as far as dreams go, this one ain’t very accommodating.”

Saying nothing, D shook the gore from his blade and returned it to the sheath on his back.

It was a second later that he did an about-face. Stopping an unseen attack with a metallic clang! and a shower of sparks, the Hunter’s blade slashed into a certain spot in the sky with overwhelming power. The unmistakable sound of flesh being rent resounded, groans of someone in their death throes rang out—and with these sounds, the badly battered form of Harold B. came into focus right in front of D.

“Don’t be thinking . . . you’re safe now . . . This . . . ain’t your world . . .”

As Harold finally finished getting the words out, blood spilled from his mouth and he fell flat on his face. The only reason he’d been able to wound D earlier was because the Hunter had been distracted by the hospital director and his machine.

“That was a lot easier than expected. So, what do we do now?”

Not even bothering to glance at Harold, D replied to his left hand’s question, “Nothing we can do but wait, even though the very shadows are our enemies here.”

“Yeah, that’s all well and good, but you can’t just stand around in one spot either. Well, are you gonna get walking or what?”

Even before his hand finished speaking, D had already started walking toward the fence. It was only a little over six feet high, but it was three layers thick. Lightly kicking off the ground, D landed easily on the other side of the fence. But he didn’t start walking right away.

There was no road on the other side of the fence. There wasn’t even a forest. The edge of the grove was off in the distance now, and before him the ground was cleared of trees, but well covered with gravestones—round ones and square ones, large and small. It was a cemetery. If this was to be the final battle, then this truly would be a fitting place for it. This place that Nobles and humans had once shared as friends was now desolate and decaying, and a stifling miasma shrouded the area, despite the fact that it was now night.

D advanced a step. He was in the center of the cemetery. Off to his left was a particularly large crypt made of marble. The domed roof was equipped with a parabolic antenna for
an information satellite service and a laser detection system.
It was also thoroughly covered with dust. A dark line ran right down the middle of the polished doors. As they swung open without a sound, D watched silently. What else could be
coming out of the home of a Noble but one of the Nobility? Undoubtedly, this was a final assassin the world was sending after D. Even after the form of Sheriff Krutz pushed its way out
of the darkness, D’s expression never changed. The scrap of cloth left by the assassin that’d targeted him earlier in the dream was a piece off the hem of the sheriff’s coat. He’d been under their control for a while.

The sheriff held a stake-firing gun. Below his vacant eyes, his lips rose and a pair of fangs peeked from his mouth. Apparently, the world had given Sheriff Krutz exactly what he needed to fight D on equal terms.

“Looks like we’ve finally come down to it,” the sheriff muttered grimly as he stepped down to the ground from the crypt. “I’m not in control of myself anymore.”

Ten feet lay between the two of them. D would be a heartbeat too late to do anything about the stake gun.

“I can’t miss you with this gun, and I won’t,” the sheriff continued softly. “Even now, I’m not entirely sure whether I should be defending this world or not, but I can’t help it. When you see Sybille in the hereafter, give her my apologies.”

“And if she’s one of the Nobility, just how is she supposed to die?” D asked. His gaze and his tone were those of a Vampire Hunter. “Sybille will continue sleeping, and your wife will keep waiting for you to come back to her. It would seem the world you’re trying to protect isn’t all fun and games.”

Sheriff Krutz pulled the trigger. The pressurized gas cylinder inside the firing mechanism gave the one-pound stake a speed of twenty-three hundred feet per second, but it was struck down before D’s chest by a silvery flash of light. As the saying went, D’s sword could cut down a laser beam.

A flash of white flew from D’s left hand. The pale needle vanished in the darkness, and the sheriff’s body leapt to an unbelievable height. With a fwissssh!, a couple of silver missiles launched from the tip of the sheriff’s extended hand, spitting tiny flames from their tails as they flew at D down on the ground.

Gathering up the hem of his coat, D pulled it to his chest and then flung it wide. His timing was exceptional—the coat changed the direction of the missiles without striking their fuses, and the three harbingers of death, unable to assume a new course, turned the ground into a fiery patch of hell.

In midair, the two shadows passed. As the figures came back to earth a few yards apart, one of them wobbled badly and fell against the gravestone beside him. “If they change me again . . . will it change this me, D?”

“I don’t know,” the Hunter replied.

“Either way . . . I don’t want to get up again . . . Godspeed to you.” Braced against the gravestone, Krutz quickly grew weaker in his movements. As the sheriff slid down the stone, a softly mumbled word could be heard.

“That was a name, wasn’t it?” D’s left hand muttered. For once, his tone was incredibly serious. “So, what did he say? Ai-Ling, or Sybille?”

D didn’t answer. The flames painted his face with ghastly shadows and colors.

Even if there were others still who didn’t want the girl to awaken and planned to continue to act on their beliefs, it was safe to say that here the curtain had fallen on at least one of their attacks on D. But what awaited him next?

D was about to walk away when suddenly a presence stirred around him. Every single gravestone began to shake. D stopped.

Whump! One of the gravestones fell over. The sound was heard time and again. Even when the first figure got up out if its grave, the sound of the falling monuments didn’t stop.

“D,” Dr. Allen called out.

“D,” Mrs. Sheldon called out.

“D,” Ai-Ling called out.

The hotel manager politely asked him to stop.

Clements told him not to do it.

Bates groaned at him not to let her wake up.

Tokoff was there, too.

All the villagers were there. Everyone was pleading with him. They told him not to let her awaken. With pale hands outstretched, the herd closed in on D.

The young man had never been one to show mercy to his foes. With a potent aura emanating from every inch of him, D readied himself to attack. The wave of humanity surrounded him like a tsunami, but, at the very instant they were about to break, something split the air.

Some didn’t make a sound, others keeled over screaming, but all of them had the ends of black iron arrows poking out of their chests or throats. In their final moments of life, those who didn’t die instantly continued toward D with vindictiveness fixed on their previously vacant and pallid faces. The steel arrows raining down dropped them one after another until finally the last of them fell. As D stood in a world strewn with corpses and choked with the stench of blood, he suddenly noticed a man and a woman standing at the edge of the cemetery. The archer in black, and Sybille in white.

The dream of the Sybille within the dream had finally become reality in this world. And it was probably only in a dream that a lone archer could drop hundreds of villagers.

“We won’t kill you,” Sybille said, boundless hatred and grief hanging in her voice. “Because you’re going to kill me.” Her pale finger pointed at D.

The man drew back on his bow. A steel arrow sliced through the wind.

D saw that single arrow become multiple shafts in midair. The hem of his coat flew up to counter the attack. Deflected arrows sank into the ground, but still others pierced D’s shoulders and abdomen.

“How was that?” Sybille asked with a smile as D dropped to his knees in pain. “Still not in the mood to kill me? And here I thought the one called D was supposed to deal death to all who challenged him. I beg of you—kill me.”

Arrows jutted out all over D’s body, but his expression was no different from usual.

Tears glistened in Sybille’s eyes at the Hunter’s stern refusal.

The archer in black notched another arrow. Before he had finished, D raised his chest. “Don’t,” was all the Hunter said.

If the next shot went through his heart, the wound would be fatal.

The bow released with a twang!

At the same instant, a silvery gleam shot from D’s hand. He’d thrown his longsword. Faster than the arrows, it pierced the heart of the man in black, and he fell to the ground with a force that knocked the scarf away from his mouth.

As Sybille stood there stunned, unable even to speak, D staggered toward her. “Do you still want to die now?” he asked.

“Yes,” the girl replied joyfully, neither nervous nor distraught.

“You were one possibility,” D said softly. The bright blood dripped from countless points on his body and stained the earth. “A certain man chose you to entrust with his hopes. Here in your village—in your world—humans and Nobles lived together in mutual understanding. This was through your power.”

“And it was a wonderful thing, but it truly pained me . . . Always sleeping . . . Forever dreaming, and nothing else. Never knowing joy or sorrow or pain . . .”

D looked at the corpse in black by her side. The scarf had flown out of the way, and he could see the face clearly. It was Sheriff Krutz. Choosing the man she loved more than any other as her protector was probably a natural move on the part of her heart.

The saddest of melodies came to D’s ears. The ground became a highly polished floor. He could tell without even looking that the figures swirling around him were dancing a waltz. The ball was in full swing now.

“D . . .”

As Sybille called out his name, a certain emotion seemed to echo in it. In her pale hand, a knife glittered coldly.

Sybille advanced. Their bodies overlapped into a single form. As if pierced by pure delight, Sybille shut her eyes and shook with ecstasy. Her tears gleamed with blue—and then all movement stopped.

After D pulled his blade from the sheriff’s chest, he ran it through Sybille.

The girl’s knife was still tight in her right hand. The real question was whether D knew she’d never intended to stab him.

The weight of her body against him suddenly vanished. He turned around. The dancers stood like phantoms, then vanished just the same. And Sybille’s face . . . was that of Nan. The girl who’d slept forever in this world must’ve transferred her consciousness to Nan so that she might live a life. Both D and Sheriff Krutz had probably known. After all, when the vision of Sybille had appeared before them for the first time, she was wearing the same clothes as the girl.

Staggering, dragging one leg behind him, D went around behind the girl. He looked at the face of her partner. It was Sheriff Krutz. And it was D. It was both, and it was neither. The man she’d danced with for three decades under the blue light of the moon, and the man summoned to wake the slumbering princess.

D’s eyes dropped to the sheriff/archer’s face. Pulling all the arrows from his own flesh and throwing them to the floor, the Hunter headed for the door. Even as he pulled the arrows out and walked away, his expression remained immutable—just as
it was when he stabbed Sybille.

Nan was in her room, lying on her bed, when she realized the awakening had come.

Old Mrs. Sheldon was out on her porch in her rocking chair.

Ai-Ling was staring up at the night sky.

Dr. Allen was watching over Sybille as she faded from existence.

All was still. It was a truly quiet night.

.

D opened his eyes. The rays of dawn were bleaching the world. He was in the middle of the forest. Considering the position of the sun and the time he’d gone to sleep, no more than two hours could’ve passed. D still remembered every detail of the strange dream. This was the same vacant lot where the mansion had been located.

And then he noticed something. His position had changed. The tree he’d been resting against towered from a spot some forty feet to his left. His cyborg horse was over there, too.

“A hell of a dream that was,” a mocking voice said, although it sounded somewhat weary, too.

The reason for this new location was immediately evident. A lone corpse lay at his feet. Hidden in the high grass, it showed every sign of having been there for many long years. It must have been there at least—

“Thirty years,” the voice said. “There’s a stab mark on the chest. Well, now we know.”

The real Sybille had been banished from the village and discarded in this forest. Thirty years—perhaps it was only natural that as she lay there all that time, lashed by rain, shivering in the wind, dreaming of a perfect community of humans and Nobles, her heart had taken measures to find peace for her, as well.

D headed for his horse. He’d been summoned to a village, and had to be there by the end of the day. Loading his gear up behind his saddle, D was about to mount up when a spirited voice called out to him.

“Say, you there—isn’t there supposed to be a village around here?” As the woman on the wagon gazed raptly at D, she added, “I don’t know—maybe it was just my imagination. But I had this dream about it last night, and it all seemed so real. Hey! What are you looking at?!” she asked the young man.

“Nothing,” D replied, giving a slight shake of his head.

“Then I’ll thank you kindly to spare me the funny looks. I may not seem like much, but everyone in these parts knows Maggie the Almighty. But, you know what?” the woman began, knitting her brow, “now that I think about it . . . Haven’t we met somewhere before?”

“No. Never.”

“No, I guess not. If I’d seen a looker like you before, I sure as heck wouldn’t forget it. And yet . . .” the woman started to say, looking astonished as she gazed at the young man on horseback. A rosy glow quickly suffused her face.

In the end, she never actually knew that she was responsible for the smile etched on the lips of the young man in black as he rode off into the distance, but for a long time after that, her feelings of good fortune took the form of the young man who visited her dreams each night.