secre—gaaah!”
Jamming his left hand against the brim of his traveler’s hat, D charged toward where Nogia had been. His running speed was so great it seemed as if he flew there.
Blood had spilled on the floor, and D’s eyes followed a trail of splotches to a narrow exit. He headed for it without hesitation.
The Hunter’s left hand shifted from the hat to the hem of his coat, where it coughed and sputtered as it said, “As always, you’re a hard master for your left hand! You’re gonna make me get rid of all this strong acid, too?” It quickly continued, “What’s wrong? Snap out of it!”
One hand still braced against the stone wall, D was slowly sinking toward the floor. His back quaked, and the mass of blood he spat on the floor spread like a crimson blossom.
“Poisoned blood?” the hoarse voice said in a stuffy tone, holding its breath.
Less than a second later the next gob of blood flew, bringing a gory flower into bloom on one of the seats.
II
The sound of singing reached their ears less than five minutes after D had gone into town. Both of them looked around, but of course there was no sign of anyone. It was a phantasmal voice, seeming to come both from the heavens on high and the bowels of the earth—a woman’s voice that would hardly be described as beautiful, yet at some point both the idea of searching for the source of the song and that of fleeing to somewhere where they’d no longer hear it vanished from Iriya’s mind. The voice was like the threads of a mysterious spider’s web, snagging Iriya’s and Meeker’s brains, digging into them, restricting the movements of the most critical faculties.
Turning to Meeker, Iriya said, “Let’s go.”
“Okay.” Meeker nodded. His eyes, like hers, were strangely unfocused.
Taking the reins, the Huntress turned her cyborg horse around, and the two of them began riding back the way they’d come.
Before they’d gone five hundred yards, a desolate rocky place appeared to their right. A short time earlier, they’d passed this spot without any trouble. Here and there the rocks were punctuated with dashes of green in the form of such plants as rough bloom and water-free grass in patches of varying size but similar shape. In keeping with rumors that this had been one of the Nobility’s quarries in ancient times, chunks and slabs of cut stone were lying all around.
It soon became apparent that the pair’s destination was about a hundred feet ahead: a slab of rock that lay at an angle with its right end sticking up.
Who would’ve thought to cut such a piece of stone, how had they managed it, and why had they abandoned it? Though the end was only about thirty feet in the air, the slab seemed to stretch through the entire quarry, easily surpassing six hundred feet in length. It was about thirty feet wide, and more than ten feet thick. The apparent foolishness of whoever had cut it was overridden by the sense of grandeur the slab inspired, with its mass probably in excess of three hundred tons.
Even on seeing the beautiful woman seated at the upper end of the slab brushing her hair, the two travelers didn’t reveal so much as a wisp of emotion on their faces.
Before long they’d crunched across the rocks to reach the base of the stone slab, at which point the singing seemed to cut off.
If a student or a scholar who’d heard the ancient legends had been there, they probably would’ve been able to recall the name of the siren who sat atop an enormous stone, possessed of a rare singing voice that bewitched those steering their boats up and down the great river below and led them to reduce their craft to flotsam on the jagged rocks.
Dressed in a gossamer robe of silver, the woman had hair so golden the light of the sun paled by comparison. After standing up and bounding from the stone, she landed lightly in front of the pair. Her robe seemed to go on forever, its folds swaying elegantly in the breeze.
“Welcome. My name is Lorelei. I’m
Jamming his left hand against the brim of his traveler’s hat, D charged toward where Nogia had been. His running speed was so great it seemed as if he flew there.
Blood had spilled on the floor, and D’s eyes followed a trail of splotches to a narrow exit. He headed for it without hesitation.
The Hunter’s left hand shifted from the hat to the hem of his coat, where it coughed and sputtered as it said, “As always, you’re a hard master for your left hand! You’re gonna make me get rid of all this strong acid, too?” It quickly continued, “What’s wrong? Snap out of it!”
One hand still braced against the stone wall, D was slowly sinking toward the floor. His back quaked, and the mass of blood he spat on the floor spread like a crimson blossom.
“Poisoned blood?” the hoarse voice said in a stuffy tone, holding its breath.
Less than a second later the next gob of blood flew, bringing a gory flower into bloom on one of the seats.
II
The sound of singing reached their ears less than five minutes after D had gone into town. Both of them looked around, but of course there was no sign of anyone. It was a phantasmal voice, seeming to come both from the heavens on high and the bowels of the earth—a woman’s voice that would hardly be described as beautiful, yet at some point both the idea of searching for the source of the song and that of fleeing to somewhere where they’d no longer hear it vanished from Iriya’s mind. The voice was like the threads of a mysterious spider’s web, snagging Iriya’s and Meeker’s brains, digging into them, restricting the movements of the most critical faculties.
Turning to Meeker, Iriya said, “Let’s go.”
“Okay.” Meeker nodded. His eyes, like hers, were strangely unfocused.
Taking the reins, the Huntress turned her cyborg horse around, and the two of them began riding back the way they’d come.
Before they’d gone five hundred yards, a desolate rocky place appeared to their right. A short time earlier, they’d passed this spot without any trouble. Here and there the rocks were punctuated with dashes of green in the form of such plants as rough bloom and water-free grass in patches of varying size but similar shape. In keeping with rumors that this had been one of the Nobility’s quarries in ancient times, chunks and slabs of cut stone were lying all around.
It soon became apparent that the pair’s destination was about a hundred feet ahead: a slab of rock that lay at an angle with its right end sticking up.
Who would’ve thought to cut such a piece of stone, how had they managed it, and why had they abandoned it? Though the end was only about thirty feet in the air, the slab seemed to stretch through the entire quarry, easily surpassing six hundred feet in length. It was about thirty feet wide, and more than ten feet thick. The apparent foolishness of whoever had cut it was overridden by the sense of grandeur the slab inspired, with its mass probably in excess of three hundred tons.
Even on seeing the beautiful woman seated at the upper end of the slab brushing her hair, the two travelers didn’t reveal so much as a wisp of emotion on their faces.
Before long they’d crunched across the rocks to reach the base of the stone slab, at which point the singing seemed to cut off.
If a student or a scholar who’d heard the ancient legends had been there, they probably would’ve been able to recall the name of the siren who sat atop an enormous stone, possessed of a rare singing voice that bewitched those steering their boats up and down the great river below and led them to reduce their craft to flotsam on the jagged rocks.
Dressed in a gossamer robe of silver, the woman had hair so golden the light of the sun paled by comparison. After standing up and bounding from the stone, she landed lightly in front of the pair. Her robe seemed to go on forever, its folds swaying elegantly in the breeze.
“Welcome. My name is Lorelei. I’m
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