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D.
    “Suit yourself. It doesn’t matter either way to me.”
    D’s reply was directed at Iriya.
    “It’s kind of strange. I can’t believe it . . . This is the first time I’ve felt like doing this. Maybe it’s because you’re the one they call D?”
    Outside the window, the world was bleached white. The lightning burned itself into Iriya’s eyes.
    “You had a kid brother, didn’t you?” the hoarse voice inquired. Although it was swiftly silenced with a cry, Iriya’s far-off gaze never left D as she continued to spin her tale.
    Her life, she said, could be divided into everything before age nine and everything after. Into heaven and hell. Her father, the huntsman; her mother, the housekeeper; her older brothers, Yan and Shezk; her older sister, Gia; her younger brothers, Pol and Chulos; and her younger sister, Maggie—nine of them all told had lived in the village of Paccilin in a valley in the eastern Frontier, where they passed their days together in peaceful poverty. Shadows were stronger than light in the valley, and the wind that blustered across the cold surface of the river glittered with white. There, in a house on the outskirts of the village, her mother awaited her father’s return, baking heavenly sweetened bread from her rations of flour and sugar. Iriya’s three brothers were charged with butchering the game her father took. The oldest boy kept aside the most nutritious parts for their parents, but he always saw to it that the littlest ones got the tastiest cuts of meat.
    There was one thing the whole family looked forward to on summer evenings: Gia would sing traditional Frontier songs to the accompaniment of Shezk’s guitar. Villagers who’d heard about this would come too, and before long they were asked to give a performance in the village square, after which a man in the audience suggested they perform in the Capital. He was a researcher from the Capital collecting information on Frontier songs. Gia was open to the idea, but Shezk wished to remain at home. Gia left home that fall, at the age of fifteen. It was about two weeks later that they received word that her party had been attacked by bandits on the way to the Capital. The fiery attack had reduced the carriage to ashes. Iriya believed it was that event that gave rise to her parents’ silence.
    And then one day in late autumn, when all the gorgeously colored trees stood against the shadows and the night was filled with the golden scents of the aging kegs of plum and apple spirits in the basement, they had come.
    “They were dressed in pitch black . . . They knocked at our door. . . I thought, Who could it be this late at night? . . .”
    Iriya’s voice began to crack, and she stopped.
    “And then . . .”
    There was a short pause.
    “And then . . .”
    D remained looking out the window.
    “And then . . .”
    Lightning flashed once more beyond the window. It was followed by the next sound from Iriya—a scream. There was something in it that was enough to make even D turn around. His right hand went for his longsword.
III
    That awful scream seemed to trail on forever. Both her hands were over her mouth, and she looked out through bloodshot eyes full of madness. Slowly her hands came away again. Perhaps some sort of weird aura radiated from her form, because D’s right hand still gripped his sword’s hilt.
    “No . . .” Iriya’s voice was like that of a withered crone.
    She backed away. Her movements suggested there was something right in front of her she needed to escape.
    “The door was shut . . . How did you get in here? Who are you? What are you?”
    “She’s slipped back into the past!” the hoarse voice said from the vicinity of D’s left hand. “She’s reliving that night. Stay back. The Nobles’ structure is responding to the girl’s emotions. Do yousee it?”
    D nodded. He’d discerned the overlapping figures in black that stood less than a foot in front of him.
    “Well, what do you know! I recognize some