The Rose Princess (23 page)

“
You really do pack it away,” the armored man said with something like admiration.

Rubbing his stomach lovingly, the man in uniform replied, “Hell, one this big is bound
to come in handy some time.”

“Won’t he fight with the others?”

“Not to worry. I’m always careful to keep them in separate compartments.”

The man’s laughter sounded like something out of a nightmare to Ry.

Before it ended, the young man with blond hair said, “You asked a strange question
just now, didn’t you?” His voice and his manner of speaking were those of someone
Ry’s age. And yet, his tone seemed to be invested with something horribly cold and
mature. “The very first thing you asked wasn’t our names or what we did,” he continued,
“but rather our destination. Why is that?”

“No reason,” Ry said, taking his eyes off the boy’s gorgeous countenance. If he were
to gaze at it for too long, it seemed like his mind would melt into a milky haze and
he’d completely lose himself. “I was just curious,” he added.

“About what? Our destination? Or about that song?” the young man said, slowly getting
to his feet.

Apparently there must’ve been some special meaning attached to the action, because
his two far rougher-looking companions backed away with paled countenances.

“That’s a song you can’t forget once you’ve heard it. Those under its spell always
want to go find the singer. I heard it when I was in my mother’s womb, or so I’ve
been told. When and where did you hear it?”

Ry was just about to reply that he didn’t know anything about any song, but then he
suddenly became aware that an intense urge to defy the handsome young man before him
had been building in his gut.

“I heard it with my own ears when I was two,” said Ry. “In the village of Anise.”

There was silence. A silence far more terrifying than any other change could’ve been.

“Is that right? I guess that figures,” said the blond man. “As much as I like the
song, I don’t intend to go looking for the singer to hear it again. It’d probably
be best if we parted company with you here.”

Ry finally noticed that the young man still had his eyes shut.

“I was just thinking the same thing myself. See you around.”

And with that casual expression, Ry turned his back on them. From the base of his
neck to his waist he was horrendously cold. The chill concentrated in the left side
of his chest. It hurt. His feet moved smoothly. The pain grew worse and worse. At
the last second he thought,
Here it comes . . .

That’s when it happened. Off to his right, he heard a horse whinny. The pain and the
chill vanished abruptly. Ry didn’t turn around. He wanted to leave as quickly as possible.

The sound of the rain had died out.

When he finally reached someplace that seemed safe, Ry had a strong suspicion he’d
been saved by the rider he saw earlier.

—

III

—

Located in an eastern Frontier sector, Anise was a village bordered on all sides by
rugged mountain ranges and black forests. The amount of land cultivated was barely
enough to provide for the thousand villagers who lived there, but the inhabitants
supplemented their income by using the waters of the Garnow River that ran along the
western edge of the village to transport lumber—an activity that helped make them
one of the wealthier communities in the area.

The weather controllers had almost no effect on this region, so the four seasons came
and went like a goddess robed in four simple, distinct ensembles. Summer was a deep
green veil that covered everything beneath the blue sky. Fall was a coat of apples
and plums that swayed with sorrow-laden breezes. Winter was a white gown that hid
even the school’s highest spire. And now it was spring. The season when remnants of
snow that feared the warmth flowed away in the clear streams, grass and flowers put
forth buds, and children’s feet could be heard slapping their way up and down the
muddy streets.

Many people came to the village. Merchants and fortune-tellers, traveling artisans
and gamblers, con men and bodyguards, drifters and criminals . . . Still, up until
last spring it had always been peaceful. This year, it didn’t look like that was going
to be the case. There’d been a lot of travelers that day—some were just passing through,
while others had various aims and would stay a while. The peaceful village accepted
them all without complaint. Even though there were some the community would’ve done
well to reject.

There were two places to stay in the village. One was a lodging house for merchants
where everyone slept packed into the same room like sardines; the other was a hotel
with private quarters. Ry chose the hotel. Having camped out all the way there, he
still had money to spare, and he also suspected the trio might check into the merchant
inn. He somewhat regretted ever having mentioned the village of Anise to them.

While the accommodations were hardly what anyone would call spectacular, the room
was at least clean. It was also unpretentiously strung with high-voltage lines and
various charms to ward off evil spirits and smaller monstrosities. Just as he was
unpacking his baggage and considering what he should do next, a steady knock rang
out and the door to his room was opened before he could even reply.

“Oh, I’m terribly sorry,” said the girl.

The room seemed to brighten immediately due to her confident tone and bearing. She
must’ve been related to the sulky old man who’d showed Ry to this room—her carefree
demeanor didn’t fit that of a mere employee.

“I’m Amne. I work here at the hotel. I just came by to drop off something you forgot.
Well, I actually heard there was someone about my age staying here and I wanted to
have a peek at you. Mind if I come in?”

Once again, she didn’t bother to wait for an answer but rather strutted right in.
Over her blue blouse she wore a dowdy employee jumpsuit, but like a doe, she also
had an almost impudent vigor that was violently at odds with her attire.

“And just what did I forget?” Ry asked, a bit perplexed.

It wasn’t as if he hadn’t had any experience with girls back in his home village.
To the contrary, his lithe build and sensitive nature made him quite popular compared
to all the rough and tough country boys there. Still, none of the girls he’d known
had been quite so forward.

“These. Put them in if you’re going to be outside at night.”

A pale hand opened before the boy’s chest. Taking the two little rubber items from
her, Ry stared down at them.

“Ear plugs?” he said.

“That’s right. So don’t go sticking
’
em up your nose by mistake. Why? Something wrong?”

“No, it’s nothing. Why do I need these things?”

“I don’t rightly know,” the girl replied. “It’s just a custom. We all use them when
we’re out walking at night, too.”

“Hmm.”

As he intently scrutinized the little rubber plugs, Ry wondered if he should ask Amne
about the song. In a sense, it was taboo for a common traveler to ask about the history
or traditions of the villages he visited. Quite naturally, in cases where the area
had been under the direct control of the Nobility and their servants and the villagers
had been terrorized day and night, they were fanatically loath to revisit their fearful
past.

Amne chuckled knowingly.

“What?”

“Actually, the story behind the ear plugs is no big secret or anything,” she told
him. “It all goes back to the days of the Nobility. Long, long ago, there was a great
big mansion on the western mountainside.”

Ry was at a loss for words.

“While they say that hundreds of Nobles lived in the mansion, one of them was a singer
skilled enough to be called to the Capital to perform at the great theaters there.
The story goes that upon hearing the singer’s voice, not only the birds and the beasts
but even the very wind and the rain would be drawn to the mansion. And I suppose you
can guess what happened to the people when they went up there, can’t you?”

Ry imagined the mellifluous voice drifting out in the moonlight night after night
and the eyes of the young people as they intently climbed the steep mountain road
toward the mansion. For all their fear, their eyes must’ve been ablaze with delight.
And while that delight burned in them, surely there was also some sadness.

Though she sounded far off in the distance, he heard Amne say, “The people all came
back pale-faced, with teeth marks on their necks. And then, at night, they’d get up
out of their beds and sink their fangs into the throats of their wives and children—no,
no, that’s all just one big lie.”

“A lie?”

“That’s right. Just a tale cooked up to scare the villagers and travelers. None of
them did anything. Recent research has shown as much.”

“Research?” Ry said, completely thrown off balance. “They didn’t do anything? We’re
talking about victims of the Nobility, aren’t we?!”

“No, I suppose they did do a little. After all, the Nobility had got to them. But
apparently it was nothing like the tall tale I just told you. Research shows all they
did was sing.”

Here was another mention of singing.

“A song . . .”

“Yes,” said Amne. “When night came, they’d slip out of the place where they were held
and begin to prowl the village streets with their hands stuck in their pockets. Like
this, kinda slouched forward, while they sang a certain song.”

“What kind of song was it?”

“I don’t know. All of this happened fairly far back—more than two hundred years ago.
And the Nobility suddenly vanished about that time. But even now rumors still remain
that they’re actually hiding out somewhere and are going to swoop back down on us.”

“You mean to tell me no one wrote the song down?” Ry asked.

“Who’d ever do such a thing? You think we’d bother committing to paper every rotten
thing the Nobility ever did to us? But now that you mention it, I heard that when
rumors were going around a while back that
they
had come back, a traveling composer went into the mansion and jotted down the tune.
But that’s got to be a bullshit story.”

Given that she was working in the service industry, the girl’s use of profanity with
a customer probably crossed the line. But Ry didn’t even seem to notice.

“That talk about them coming back—how long ago was that?”

“Let me see . . . It’d have to be nearly twenty years, I suppose.”

In addition to the wandering composer, his father must’ve heard the song as well.

“Is there anyone who can recite the song?” asked the young man.

“Not a soul. A long time ago, you used to be able to hear it anywhere you traveled
in these parts, because all the men and women who heard it went up to the mansion.
And after they came back, the villagers who hadn’t been affected had no choice but
to listen to them sing. However, they say it simply can’t be duplicated. The tune
itself is straightforward and beautiful, but you can’t even hum the first couple of
bars. The only people who can sing it are the ones who’ve heard it themselves at the
mansion. And I suppose by the same token no one could jot it down, either.”

Perhaps as a result of not inhaling for so long, Amne stopped here and took a few
breaths.

“Are you sure it’s okay telling me that?” Ry said, smiling wryly all the while.

“Sure it is! When I’m at school, no one there listens to the results of my research.”

“
Your
research? You mean to tell me that was the theory
you
came up with?”

“That’s right! Why, I’m even in the ‘historical research society’ at school. Seems
like you’re kind of interested, too. So, what are you here for anyway?”

“I came to hear a song, actually.”

“You’re pulling my leg!” the girl said, but she looked rather pleased. She must’ve
figured he’d enjoyed her theory. “Well, not that it matters. You know,” Amne continued,
“it’s past noon, so you should probably head out and get yourself some lunch. After
that, I’ll show you around the village.”

“That’d be a big help, but you really don’t have to. You’ve got a lot to do here at
the hotel, don’t you?”

“Not a problem,” the girl replied. “At the moment, you’re the only guest we’ve got,
and the saloon downstairs doesn’t get crowded until after sundown. So, where would
you like to go?”

In his heart, Ry now faced a dilemma. He couldn’t very well tell her he’d come to
hear the Noble’s song or to meet the singer. But now that he knew a Noble was involved,
his interest hadn’t waned in the least. To the contrary, the knowledge had only fanned
the flames of his tenacity all the more.

“Well, that’s a good question—that mansion’s probably pretty far off, right?” he said
with a calculated disinterest.

The answer came instantaneously.

“Hey, it’s no problem. It’s thirty minutes by wagon. After you have lunch, we’ll still
have time for a nice, leisurely round trip. We’ve even got a wagon we’re not using
now. Now, run along to the diner. You go out and take a right on the street—”

—And going straight for about two minutes, he found the sign for the diner. Right
above it the words “liquor” and “dry goods” were written in large letters. In small
towns and villages, it was typical to combine the general store, diner, and saloon
into a single establishment. Although Ry thought
they
might be in there, he wound up being the only customer.

Finishing his meal of stew and bread, Ry followed the street west. The fence at the
edge of the village was where he was supposed to meet Amne.

Snow still remained in a few spots along the road. Stepping into an alley he’d been
told was a shortcut, Ry stopped in his tracks.

Countless gold sparkles drifted in the air—seeds of the golden snow flowers dancing
on a gentle breeze. They weren’t an uncommon sight in the eastern Frontier sectors.
Exceptionally heat and cold resistant, the seeds could also withstand poor soil conditions
and severe weather until one bright, sunny day in spring when they’d bloom into small
golden flowers that delighted people’s eyes.