Yashakiden: The Demon Princess, Volume 2 (24 page)

The young clan leader didn't respond to Yuen's question, but looked at the brilliant flocks of color arrayed along the banks of the lake. Peacocks. One spread its tail feathers. The dazzling colors of a hallucinatory sunset were entrancing.

A second later, Yuen and Zhang bounded to the right and left. They'd been carefully following the every move of their leader, and before they knew it, he'd extended his right hand toward the peacocks.

What sent the two of them scurrying—the alarm evident on their faces—was the strange demonic force welling up around the birds. It engulfed them. The beautiful birds were reduced to white bones tumbling to the earth, their skeletons crushed like tissue paper.

“As I expected,” said Yuen.

“It was a facade,” said Zhang.

They couldn't help but admire such beguiling evil. Another voice mingled with theirs, rumbling like a tremor in the earth while descending from the sky.

“And you saw through it. Those who press on ignorant of what this world contains will be consumed by it before they get far. Bless their souls.”

The voice ceased. Yakou smiled thinly.

“What do you think?” asked Yuen, sensitive to every flicker of emotion on Yakou's face.

Yakou said, “Useless pretenders are everywhere, twiddling their thumbs and biding their time.”

“Eh?”

“Let's go. Our objective is the manor house. Hold on tight.”

The three came together and soared into the sky. Yakou selected the veranda that wrapped around the top story of the manor house as his landing point. The silence flowed back as he folded his wings, uninterrupted by even the song of a bird.

His two subordinates looked to him for his next command and saw that he was temporarily lost in thought.

“What's on your mind?” Zhang asked softly. As he couldn't hear what Zhang had said, Yuen continued to train his eyes on the world around them.

“Though this world is an artifice, a deception—what is the true nature of the make-believe?”

“The what?”

“That peacock, this manor, the surrounding groves and forests, that blue lake, those mountains—we do not have the resources to investigate, yet it concerns me. The answer seems to be on the tip of my tongue—at least, that's what my intuition is telling me.”

“So you're staying that this world itself is within our ability to comprehend?”

“I don't think it would be presumptuous to assume so,” Yakou said in his normally placid tone of voice. His mostly deaf subordinates made do by reading his lips.

“I don't really understand it, but it's not so different from what we see in the course of our everyday lives—”

“Understand that much and its destruction becomes more than just a dream. To the extent that these living quarters are in regular use, their loss would be extremely damaging.”

“Precisely. But a deception this grand in scale—how should we deal with it by ourselves—”

“Not a task for the faint of heart,” Yakou said with a thin but fearless smile. After all, he was the Elder's grandson.

“Somebody's coming,” Zhang said in a low voice. He hadn't heard footsteps, but sensed an approaching presence.

The three men disappeared in a flash. Kikiou emerged from a corridor on the right, walking quickly down the veranda. He gave no indication that he knew they were there.

A black shadow alighted on the eaves above his head. It was strange that Kikiou—who had before raised the hairs on the back of Setsura's neck—didn't notice it, but such was Zhang's mastery of the cloaking technique that disguised them.

A long, slender blade like the leaf of a willow tree pressed against his neck. “This is—” the old man said in a dry voice.

“I don't expect you wish for an early death,” Yuen whispered.

Kikiou's mouth cracked open. A thin line of spittle formed a web between his upper and lower lips. “Who are you?”

“Don't play the fool, Kikiou. You are a Hsia Dynasty warlock. You must have seen us coming for some time now. Surely you heard the creaking of that gate.”

Kikiou's surprised eyes flitted to and fro. It wasn't an act. He really couldn't identify the source of the voice. A voice that sounded like it descended from the heavens and roiled up from the earth, a voice that nobody else but the person in question heard.

A self-satisfied smile rose to Kikiou's face. “Ah, the Elder's scion. I heard your name was Yakou. Do you remember me? We met once, back when the wings on your back were barely bigger than a chick's.”

“My grandfather told me,” Yakou said without speaking. “But there is only one thing I wish to know now. Where is your master?”

“Do you think I would confess that fact to you?”

“When you witness us destroying your place of rest, you will change your mind. Perhaps she comes home to the false day and finds herself sleeping in the true sunlight.”

“Bastard—” Kikiou's body trembled. In this false world, his stark horror was the real thing. “Do you fear time? The glories of immortality? May heaven curse such fools!”

A red line blossomed on his throat. Yuen's blade moved. The scarlet line grew and became a ribbon, welling up and pouring down.

“Walk.”

“As you wish. Let us proceed. These four-thousand-year-old bones still hold life dear.”

Kikiou stepped forward. Yuen stuck to him like a monkey on his back. From his gliding steps, it was clear that he did not feel Yuen's weight.

They entered the manor, passed down a gray hallway, and descended a flight of stairs. As large and resplendent as the manor house was from the outside, on the inside there looked to be no beginning and no end.

Kikiou stopped in front of a heavy wooden door.

“Here?” asked Yakou directly behind him. Up till now, Kikiou hadn't sensed he was there at all.

“Yes.”

“You first.”

“No, I insist. I do not wish to witness any of your villainous deeds.”

The cold, hard metal pressed against the nape of his neck. Kikiou drew a long, shallow breath. On the verge of penetrating the base of his skull, the tip of the short sword withdrew.

It was hard to believe that someone like Kikiou should so willingly bow to the demands of these invaders without any show of resistance. Yakou must have suspected he still had something up his sleeve, and so ordered him to take the point.

“Next time, it'll go deep enough for you to taste it.”

“I am well aware of that.”

Kikiou picked up a wooden mallet hanging next to the door and struck the oak sounding board hanging from the ceiling. A smooth depression had been pounded into the wood by the innumerable strikes of that mallet.

“Who is it?” asked a woman's voice. The lascivious echoes in that voice would excite the loins of a man with a heart of stone and veins filled with ice water.

“It is Kikiou.”

“State your business.”

“Ryuuki and Setsura Aki squared off against each other.”

“Oh? And?”

“I've brought along Setsura's right-hand man.”

“Then come in.”

That instruction was accompanied by the metallic
click
of the lock mechanism releasing. Without any force being applied, the door opened and swung inward.

“Good job,” said Yuen.

Again the blade was pressed against Kikiou's neck. But this time the edge sank through the flesh and muscle, down to the bone and through to the other side. All with a deceptive ease. The old man's head tumbled to his feet and came to a halt, the eyes peering up at the now headless body, standing there motionless.

Three men pushed it aside and advanced deeper into the blue world. The magnificent room was more than twenty feet long by thirty feet wide. Stealthily, with nary a glance at the antique furnishings and decor, they pursued their singular objective—waiting there like a treasure chest of precious jewels at the bottom of Davy Jones' locker.

Six eyes focused on the black casket, covered by a curtain of sheer silk that looked like a hazy, wet morning. They too dreamed scarlet dreams while slumbering in very similar beds.

In accordance to the ancient rites, Yakou in the center, Zhang behind him and to his right, Yuen guarding the left flank, his back to him. Nobody spoke. It was still. Deathly still.

Yuen reached back between his shoulder blades with his right hand and drew out a black stake. The tip of the yard-long steel bar was sharper than the point of a needle.

With equally reverential movements, Zhang pulled from his back a white wooden stake. Yakou took it with both hands. Switching to a backhand grip, he chanted a curse of the night that only their kind understood.

Zhang retreated a step. The blade of his short sword glittered in the faint light. He concealed it behind him and waited.

Yakou would strike first, driving the stake through the heart. Then Yuen would immobilize the body by pinning the vampire through the abdomen to the bottom of the casket. Finally, as the
coup de grace
, Zhang would sever the head with his short sword.

“Who are you?”

The strength of demonic force in the voice—spilling as if from cracks in the casket—checked the advancing Yakou.

“You killed my grandfather on a hill in Toyama. This isn't the time for you to be taking a nap.”

He sensed a breath being taken.

“I see. You are the Elder's grandson. They say your name is Yakou. And you came all the way to see me. You do know that there are traps everywhere?”

“I've known all along,” said Yakou, adjusting his grip on the stake.

A quiver transmitted down the shaft from his hand, the thin sliver of wood inexorably devouring the outpouring waves of his power. But the movement was so slight it drew no attention to itself. Not even his fingers moved.

“I'm leaving. We shall see if your stake is quicker than I am.”

In the same breath—the lid of the casket flew open with great force, with great intention—and flew end over end at Yakou's face.

Yuen's iron lance and Zhang's short sword stopped it. Skewered down the middle, the lid split in two, revealing the white figure rising out of the casket.

A scream shattered the air like a sonic boom—the frustrated cry of the woman in white—and Yakou's roar as he soared over her head and buried the stake into her heart with all his might.

The two of them seem to freeze in the air—in reality, only a split second elapsed—in a kind of embrace. Then a red flower blossomed across the back of her white gown.

A moment later, their two bodies thumped down into the casket like two sides of beef.

“
You—and—that—fucking—Doctor Mephisto—
” She spat out the curses as she reached for Yakou's throat with her claw-like hands.

Yuen's iron lance—sending the spasms of her death throes through the gossamer-clad body—finally brought that action to a halt. With a single blow, it nailed her torso to the bottom of the casket and to the marble platform below it.

Roaring with the ferocity of a wounded beast, she grasped the steel bar with both hands and tried to pull it out. The metal seared her palms. The incandescent energy pierced her hands. It combined with the lifeforce pouring from the hole in her chest and raced through her body, shattering her nervous system and freezing her frame in a tattered rigor mortis. The lance didn't budge.

“
Hiii—
” A fountain of black blood followed the high-pitched scream that burst from her mouth. A heavy sound struck the bottom of the casket. All other sounds ceased except for the breathing of her assassins, who otherwise had no need to breathe.

They looked with emotion down at the tattered clothing and gray residue in the casket. “Envious?” Yakou asked.

“A little,” Yuen answered.

Zhang said solemnly, “We long for death but lack the courage to die. I have to believe that one day the Reaper will come for us, too.”

“Let's go.”

The three turned toward the door. A black silhouette stood before them. It was Kikiou.

“Dying once wasn't enough?” Yuen asked, no hint of surprise in his voice.

“Do you know how many times we have died?” Kikiou said breezily. He was the same size as before, his voice the same, but the fierceness of the
qi
surging from his entire being induced in Yuen and Zhang waves of unease.

“Look.” With his staff, Kikiou pointed behind them.

After exchanging glances, the three assassins turned to see. A woman was standing next to the casket. The elegance that defined the meaning of “princess” graced her features. On her face was a bewitching smile.

“A pretender,” Yakou muttered.

“Exactly. The real Princess was otherwise engaged this evening.” He laughed. “As you don't have long to live, there's no sense in denying you the truth. She is visiting the girl whose blood she took at Mephisto Hospital. Takako Kanan.”

A touch of color rose to Yakou's refined face. His subordinates had taken Takako from the hospital and were now guarding her. They were the best of the breed. But they couldn't be expected to stand in the way of someone who had so easily killed his grandfather.

“Yes, it is as you fear,” Kikiou said, as if reading his mind. He smiled derisively. “None of our enemies has ever prevented a visit from her. A man surrounded himself by a thousand warriors. A man buried himself in a cave deep underground. They sought the sanctuary of priests and popes, of princes and kings. All that stood in her way died.”

“And what became of them?”

“Some are spared. The remainder die ordinary deaths. Not everyone who gives Princess his blood meets with her approval. In the bowels of the earth or at the bottom of the sea, they await her visit—never knowing the outcome—dreaming dreams from which they never wake. From among their number only two have been chosen.”

“Ryuuki and Shuuran.”