The Night Parade

Twenty-Two

Some time earlier, Tamara had dutifully taken her place beside her husband in the procession. Her scheme to take vengeance on Lord Sixx called for both conspirators to remain in full view of the monstrous throng who would be their followers once Sixx was dead, thus erasing any possible accusations of guilt.

As they walked through the streets, Tamara stared at the emerald locket she had retrieved from the pit of Shandower’s cavernous lair, finally understanding the fascination the object held for the girl: The locket was not a magical item. The mage, Cardoc, had proved this. It was, however, magic sensitive. With no real power of its own, it could assimilate the power of its owner and fulfill whatever need the mage holding it required. The locket responded to desire, an alien emotion to the mage while he was in the course of performing his duties, thus, despite his great power, for him it had remained a useless lump of metal with a shining emerald surface. Krystin had needed to know her past, and the locket had revealed it to her. Tamara wanted to know only her future, and the images that she saw within its emerald depths confused and disturbed her. With time and effort she knew she could force the locket to show her the future in such detail that the meaning of the glimpses would come clear, but it did not appear that she would have such time, not tonight, in any case.

“Stop looking at that thing,” Zeal whispered.

Tamara tore her gaze from the locket and smiled as she waved to the entranced humans on either side of the street. She felt slightly embarrassed that she, the originator of the plan to depose Lord Sixx, had to be reminded to follow their script. Sixx walked directly before them, holding the box containing the apparatus high over his head. Bellophat’s music eased through the streets, carried to all parts of the city by his will.

As the procession wore on, the music changed, becoming heated and out of control. Then it ceased altogether. Tamara forced back a smile of triumph. Myrmeen had succeeded in her task. Bellophat was dead.

Lord Sixx slowed, looking around in anger and surprise. He drew the box to his breast and stopped in the middle of the street. The procession, moving in perfect time with him, also stopped.

“Tamara,” Lord Sixx said with a nervous edge in his voice, “Find Bellophat. Make him begin again.”

She hesitated. This had not been according to plan. Tamara had been certain that Sixx would send her husband away to check on Bellophat. As they both were aware of what had happened to the monstrosity, Zeal instead would have secretly followed Lord Sixx and remained hidden until Sixx opened the box containing the apparatus. Then he would have performed the task they had discussed; Tamara had wanted to be near Lord Sixx, to see the look of surprise on his face, to laugh as he died. Instead, she would have to watch from a distance and Zeal would have to look his victim in the eye—an ironic turn of phrase considering their leader’s many-eyed condition—when he dispatched the man.

Lord Sixx shouted orders, reminding all of his followers that the matter of paramount importance was the children. They were to search the city and bring him the living bodies of any babies that had been born tonight. He took Zeal and a handful of others as private guards and prepared to go on to the predetermined end of the parade, the shrine to Sharess on the docks overlooking the Shining Sea.

Sixx looked at Tamara and growled, “What are you waiting for? Go now!”

Tamara broke from the procession, wading into the stream of slowly waking humans. She smiled broadly as she heard the first shrieks of terror from the men and women who had been the Night Parade’s adoring audience.

The people of Calimport were waking up.

Across the city, in the basement of a school that had been ravaged by two members of the Night Parade, the survivors of the attack were huddled in the semidarkness as one of the tutors, a dark-skinned woman from the south, wailed in agony as she gave birth. The music drifted even here, keeping the handful of men and women and the dozens of children, all in their midteens, happily at bay. The people waited for their new masters to debase them sexually, or simply kill them outright, feasting on their flesh while their still living bodies twitched. They would die as hapless idiots, entranced by the sounds.

“This is good,” the first creature said. He stood slightly over seven feet and all of his appendages were greatly exaggerated in length. His flesh was orange and as hard and dry as an elephant’s hide. His long, thin fingers, each a foot long, were caked in human blood. “I know it isn’t safe to wake so many of them, but I prefer to taste their fear and hear their screams, don’t you?”

“Of course,” his companion said as he held up his own hand. The man was a sickly, pale color, almost ivory. His flesh consisted of maggots that wriggled obscenely on his bones. “I think I broke a couple of nails, though. I’d hate to break any more.”

They laughed together as the child’s head suddenly showed and the midwife grasped it.

“Be very careful,” the first creature said, “We need—”

Suddenly the music died.

“That’s not supposed to happen,” the maggot-infested man said warily. The humans who were now waking up were bunched at the foot of the stairs, blocking the only route of escape.

The baby’s scream broke their temporary paralysis. The monsters looked at each other, understanding that the only way to make it from the basement alive was to use the child as a hostage. The carrot-skinned man darted toward the baby, his claws poised to sever the cord attaching the infant to its mother’s body.

Neither creature reached the baby. A swarm of children engulfed them and dragged them down, paying them back in blood for the pain and the nightmares they had caused.

A mile away, a young actress named Kohrin-dahr reached up and caressed the sides of her lover’s face. The man moved over her, leaning down to cover her mouth greedily with his own. Their hearts thundered in synch and their bodies strained in passion. She was dimly aware of the hard wood of the stage beneath her bare form and the laughs and applause of an audience, but she did not care. She was with the most beautiful man she had ever seen, a stagehand she had barely noticed until this night. The storm’s violent sounds spurred on her passion as she raked at his sides.

The music that had been their accompaniment suddenly ended. For the first time, the young actress saw the true nature of the monstrosity above her. Shocked and repulsed, she bucked wildly, trying desperately to free her body, but the creature held on tightly, its own pleasure increased by her squirming. She struck out blindly, her fingers curled into claws, and dug her hands into the golden, honey-combed chambers of his soft, glowing eyes. A rain of ichor splattered her naked body as the creature rose, screaming in pain. It was stunned by the sudden onslaught of darkness. She scrambled back, detaching herself from the monster. The actress grabbed at the first object that came into range, a heavy lamp that had not been mounted.

Kohrin-dahr smashed at the creature’s buglike head, driving it to its knees. She struck it again and again until she was covered in its blood and the monstrosity finally stopped moving. Then she looked out into the theater and saw close to a dozen monsters watching her in surprise. Before any of them could vault toward her, the actress turned and ran.

In the glass counting house of the financial district, the rainbow woman had come to make a withdrawal of pain and suffering, torment and blood. She had not bothered to disguise her appearance; the rapidly changing colors of her flesh always proved to be an ample enticement to men of any species—along with her stunning beauty and magnificently proportioned body.

“Gentlemen,” she said to the entourage that had followed her through the streets and broken open the doors to this building, simply because it had intrigued her. “I would like each of you to find something to cut with, preferably a dull knife. When each of you has found such an object, I wish for you to line up against that far wall.”

Within minutes, her demands were met and each of the men stood ready with a blade.

With a lascivious grin she said, “Tonight you will be my paladins, my protectors, and more. I will share with you sensual delights the likes of which you have never imagined. In return, you will murder the women you love and bring back their heads. To show that I have your complete loyalty, I wish for a small display. Each of you will cut off one of your fingers. I’ll tell you which one. You will scream with pain, give your suffering to me. Is that understood?”

The men did as she requested. Soon each of them was drenched in agony and blood. The rainbow woman had absorbed every moment of their pain and felt overwhelmed by the sensations. She smiled. “Now go and bring me the heads of your loved ones. Then I will show you pleasure and pain as you have never imagined it, never dreamt—”

Outside, as the rain beat even harder, Bellophat’s music suddenly fell away. The rainbow woman looked back at her perfect soldiers, who now advanced on her, blades ready. She screamed as they fell upon her, hacking away at her until the rainbow swirl of colors surging throughout her body coalesced into a nightmare black.

Lord Sixx and his entourage traced the route they had planned through the docks to the waterfront temple of Sharess, the goddess of lust, free love, and sensual fulfillment. The building was elegantly designed, with dark marble columns, jutting spires, and crystalline statues, many of which had been shattered. Lord Sixx passed the sentries he had posted around the temple’s perimeter and paused on the spacious veranda outside the main doors.

“Is anyone inside?” Sixx asked. “Any humans?”

“Not anymore,” his inhuman guard replied. “We cleaned it out when Bellophat’s music began. There is one we spared, though. I thought you might want to have a look at him.”

Vizier Punjor Djenispool was brought out, his hands tied, a gag stuffed in his mouth. His cold, unreadable eyes made Lord Sixx uneasy.

“He is the son of the pasha,” Sixx said, “next in line to rule this city. I’ve had my eye on him for some time. Keep him safe this night. After the festival I may wish for some time alone with him.”

The guardsman understood. Lord Sixx would take the man’s memories and replace him with one of the Night Parade’s own, securing Calimport as a safe haven for another thirty or forty years. As he was led away, the flesh around Djenispool’s eyes crinkled as the man smiled broadly. The sight would have bothered Lord Sixx more if it had not been for his excitement over the event that was about to take place.

“Perhaps he thinks his goddess will rescue him,” Imperator Zeal said with a smirk. A few of the creatures smiled with him.

Lord Sixx turned slightly. “Did anyone ask for your pathetic display of humor, Zeal?”

“No, milord,” the fiery-haired man said stiffly. Those who had joined in his amusement became expressionless.

“Personally, I do not wish to suffer it,” Sixx said. “It’s bad enough that I must endure the company of imbeciles like you simply because the Draw favored you in infancy.” He turned to the guards. “Call out the acolytes,” Sixx said. “I want to see the children.”

One of the guardsmen nodded. Sixx waited with impatience as footfalls sounded from within the temple, along with the screams of human infants. Finally a string of hooded women carrying babies emerged from the building. They gathered in a circle around the many-eyed man.

“Only a dozen?” Sixx asked.

“The evening is still young,” one of the women said, her black robe adorned with a long slash of crimson, marking her as their leader. Within the shadows of her hood Lord Sixx saw her withered face, her flesh drawn tightly to her skull. “Your followers will bring more to us before dawn arrives. Or do you have so little faith in their abilities?”

Faith is not an issue, he thought, still disturbed by the premature end of Bellophat’s music. The rain engulfing the city was driving and steady, soothing in its own way, but lacking the sweet complexities of Bellophat’s creations. A figure approached in the rain, carrying the thirteenth child for the night. Suddenly a wad of darkness appeared and expanded before the monster carrying the human baby. It pulled itself into the form of one of the acolytes and reached with ancient hands for the child. The creature carrying the baby had slaughtered nine people for this child and was reluctant to give it away. It looked in Lord Sixx’s direction and saw the dark man nod. The creature surrendered the baby and retreated into the night in search of others. The new acolyte took her place in the widening circle.

“Now you have enough to begin,” the old woman said.

Lord Sixx absently noted that beneath their hoods each of the acolytes was a perfect duplicate of the elderly woman. He lowered the box to the floor and commanded Zeal and the guardsmen to leave the spacious veranda. In moments he was alone at the center of the gathering.

Sixx knelt on the floor, the box before him. His hands shook as he reached for the clasp on its side. He was unaware that as he did this, Imperator Zeal stepped behind two other creatures in the crowd that had gathered on the dock to witness the apparatus’s unveiling and the Ceremony of Renewal’s beginning. The sweat that had suddenly burst out upon his flesh was washed away by the chilling rain. Steam slowly rose from his skin as the droplets of water hissed upon contact with him. His task was difficult, requiring total concentration so that the call of flames would not overcome him and force him to reveal his guilt once Lord Sixx was dead.

The dark man with many eyes fingered the clasp and nearly leapt back in surprise as he heard his name shouted from the creatures gathered in the rain, before the temple.

“Lord Sixx!” the voice called again.

From his place in the crowd, Imperator Zeal looked over to see a shambling creature, its body arched like’ a bow, approach with a child in its arms.

“I have another one!” it called.

Zeal shuddered as he tried to force down the rising heat within his breast. He had to maintain control.

On the veranda, Lord Sixx exhaled in disgust. He had been frightened enough at the prospect of opening the box and revealing the apparatus. The interruption had not been appreciated. “Mistress,” he said, his voice wavering more than he would have liked, “deal with this.”

A new acolyte sprung into existence, took the child, then hurried to join the circle.

“Soon,” Zeal whispered, stunned that he had spoken the word aloud.

“I doubt it,” a voice sounded before him.

Before Zeal could turn, he felt a slight breeze and saw a blur of movement. A figure raced past him and appeared on the veranda, before the leader of the Night Parade.

“Dymas,” Lord Sixx said dryly. “Magistrate, if you do not wish a return to that frozen hell I exiled you to—”

“Lord Sixx, please,” Dymas said, clutching at the wound Krystin had carved into his chest. Although his body’s healing mechanisms were ultimately much faster and more efficient than those of a human, he was not immortal. The strain he had placed on himself to arrive at this place and remain conscious long enough to issue his warning was now beginning to show. Sixx could see the genuine desire to serve and protect in the flayed man’s eyes. He straightened and ordered the man to speak.

Zeal watched from the crowd, impatient with the delays. He did not know what knowledge Dymas had gained; if he had, he would have boiled the man’s blood before he could have spoken, or drained the moisture from his body. Dymas would have fallen over, apparently succumbing to his wounds. The fiery-haired man did not expect the words that followed:

“There’s a conspiracy to kill you,” Dymas said. “Zeal and his bitch want you dead. He planned to—”

“That’s a lie!” Zeal shouted.

Sixx suddenly noticed the way the rain hissed and dissolved into steam as it struck him. Zeal had answered the call of flames. He was preparing to strike.

“The second you opened the box, he was gonna burn you,” Dymas said, “then say it was the magic of the apparatus that done it, like you’d been unworthy. He’d have fried you, then taken your place. No one would’ve known it was murder.”

The creatures to either side of Zeal moved away. The red-haired man stepped forward, his hands outstretched. Steam flooded from his body, wreathing him in fog.

“Lord Sixx, I have served you faithfully,” Zeal said, the flesh of his palms dissolving as the burning gateways suddenly appeared in his hands. “Would you believe the word of a man who killed one of his own?”

“And said that it was because the man was a threat to you, that he planned to usurp you,” the old woman said.

“A claim I did not believe at the time,” Lord Sixx admitted. “Perhaps I should have.”

“I’m tellin’ you the truth,” Dymas pleaded. “Look there. His woman waits on that rooftop, watching us!”

Lord Sixx saw the form of the woman-spider on the roof of a nearby warehouse and knew suddenly that it was true. Zeal and Tamara had betrayed him. Tearing off his breastplate, Lord Sixx revealed the Eyes of Domination. With these eyes Sixx could enslave the will of others and force them onto a landscape of the mind, where their battle to the death would be slanted in the dark man’s favor. Zeal was too powerful to engage in any other manner. The Eyes of Domination flared in the darkness and captured Zeal’s gaze.

The fire lord’s will was incredibly strong. Sixx knew he would not be able to pull Zeal into the psychic battlefield he favored unless he could weaken the man. In seconds he would lose his hold on the fire lord, but those seconds would prove to be all that were necessary.

Surrender to the flames, Sixx urged. Let them overwhelm you.

The fiery-haired man shuddered. His arms were engulfed in flames so intense that the rain was burned away before it came within six feet of him.

Turn and release them! Sixx commanded silently.

Zeal felt his body pivot as the flames struck from his hands, reaching across the distance that separated him from his wife. He screamed in horror as he saw the tongues of flame strike Tamara, sending her shrieking form backward, into the darkness.

“No, I couldn’t have. I couldn’t have—” Zeal began, stopping suddenly as he spun around and caught sight of Sixx’s eyes for a second time. This time, Zeal had little defense against the Eyes of Domination. He stiffened, and his own eyes became blank, though his flames continued to burn.

For long moments, Lord Sixx and Imperator Zeal remained motionless as the crowd watched. Their duel was being enacted in a private place that only Zeal and Sixx could experience, a dimension solely of mind.

Lord Sixx broke from his trance and smiled. He raised his hands as if he were conducting a symphony. Zeal jerked and trembled in time with Sixx’s motions, then fell to his knees as his power became novalike. The fire lord had been the first of his so called Inextinguishables. Only one being among the Night Parade possessed the power to destroy him: Zeal himself.

Suddenly, the fire lord turned his flames upon himself. He threw his head back in a silent scream as the fires that had always been his allies choked his breath and incinerated him. In moments, all that remained was a smoldering corpse.

Lord Sixx turned to Dymas. “It seems I owe you my life.”

“My duty’s to protect you,” Dymas said.

Sixx nodded, searching the other man’s eyes for ambition. He saw nothing, but Zeal had fooled him also. When this night was done, he would enter Dymas’s mind. If he found a trace of duplicity, he would kill the sleeping man. For tonight, he felt better with Dymas alive.

Across the docks, Myrmeen and Krystin had been trying to locate Lord Sixx and the apparatus. They knew that somehow they had to find a way to stop the ceremonies. A torrent of flame had struck a rooftop a block away. Moments later, a second burst of light reached up and touched the sky. They ran to the warehouse, unaware that it had been the one upon which Tamara had crouched, and came upon the woman-spider’s smoldering remains. They watched in fascination as Tamara quickly became human once again, though she had been horribly burned, most of her hair singed away.

“Myrmeen,” Tamara said weakly. “I’m glad you came.”

“We saw the light on the roof, decided to see what had caused it,” Krystin said distractedly, her gaze fixed on the item around Tamara’s neck, which had been burned but was still recognizable. “You saved my locket.”

“Not worth much now,” Tamara said, each word bringing pain that she could not mask. “Sorry.”

She reached out to Myrmeen, who drew away. Tamara shut her eyes and said, “I know what happened to your child.”

The words nearly drove Myrmeen from her feet. She reached out and grasped Krystin’s shoulder for balance. The child wrapped her arm around Myrmeen and helped the woman kneel beside Tamara.

“Have to tell you now,” Tamara said. “Lord Sixx will send someone to make sure I am dead.”

“Speak,” Myrmeen said, unable to force more than the single word from her mouth. She listened to Tamara’s faltering narrative, the flow broken as the woman paused to cough, blood spitting out with her words, her eyes becoming glassy, her body shaking.

“I said you had destroyed my home,” Tamara said. “Our home, where you lived as a child and I called home as an adult.”

Myrmeen thought of her return to her childhood home, the Tower Arms. The building had been in ruins except for her old quarters. They had been perfectly, impossibly restored to the way she remembered them. Then she recalled the nightmare, the screeching monstrosities her parents had become, and their horrible words:… we told you the other one was dead and you would be our one and only. You smiled. You thought we didn’t see you, but we did and it cut our hearts out.

Not true, she thought. Please, it’s not true.

Then she remembered when she first had heard of the Night Parade. Her mother had been explaining what had happened to her baby sister. She had been taken to a place where she would be loved and happy, where she would be with her own kind.

Where she would be a monster.

“You’re my sister,” Myrmeen said breathlessly, her emotions going numb at the realization.

Tamara nodded. “Twenty-eight years ago, two members of the Night Parade wanted a child but could not conceive one. In this plane they cannot reproduce by natural means. They purchased a child and brought it to the Festival of Renewal. It was placed with the others, so many others.

“Myrmeen, the apparatus transforms human children into Night Parade creatures. I was raised to believe I was one of them, given the traits during the Draw of my adopted parents, themselves part human, part spider. Many years later, they died. Zeal, who was ten years older than me and had loved me from the first time he saw me, told me the truth. It was difficult to learn the names of my human parents, but I found them, and I found you. I came to you many times, but I could not bring myself to confront you.”

“The nightmares,” Myrmeen whispered. “The people with limbs of spiders—”

“My parents,” Tamara said softly, “and me.”

“Wait,” Krystin said as she looked at Myrmeen. “You said your sister was stillborn, that your mother told you—”

“She lied,” Tamara said bitterly. “I had been born sickly, and the physicians gave me only a few hours to live. The slavers came and offered our parents a fortune for a child that would die soon anyway. They looked to their other child, to you, Myrmeen, who was starving because they could not provide for her, and accepted the slavers’ gold.”

“You should have come to me,” Myrmeen said. “You should have told me.”

Tamara shook her head. “I tracked you. I watched you with envy, my human sister who could go where she wished, do as she liked, and experience this world as a native creature, not a predator. As much as I wanted to be human, I had needs and appetites that were not.”

Myrmeen’s lips curled slightly in disgust.

The muscles in Tamara’s face tightened. “I did not think I would be able to› bear seeing your revulsion. It’s strange, sister. Somehow it doesn’t bother me.”

Covering her face with her hands, Myrmeen said, “I’m sorry.”

“You can’t help it,” Tamara said. “I understand. Besides, would you have believed me if I had told you the truth then?”

“I don’t know,” Myrmeen said honestly. “Why did you try to kill me at Shandower’s retreat?”

Tamara shook her head. “I thought you had been party to the sale of your child. All my life I had convinced myself that you were noble and decent. When Dak sold the baby I thought you were party to the deal, that you had done to this innocent what our parents had done to me. I thought you had chosen to abandon her.”

“I never would have done that,” Myrmeen said.

Tamara glanced at Krystin, then back at her sister. “I know that now.”

Hardness returned to Myrmeen’s eyes, the golden slivers within the deep, troubled sea of her pupils shining like avenging swords. “What happened to my child?”

“Zeal and I wanted a baby,” Tamara said. “We purchased yours.”

“No, please,” Myrmeen said. “My baby can’t be like you, it can’t be, please—”

“It’s not,” Tamara said. “I wanted to raise your daughter myself. Her place was arranged for at the Draw, but then it all came to me, the horrors I had witnessed and the evil inside me. Sanity overwhelmed me. Somehow I was able to be merciful. I told Zeal to give the baby to a human. He chose one from the Council of Mages in Suldolphor who could not have children. He and his wife have provided the child with the life of a princess. Your daughter is royalty.”

Krystin took Myrmeen’s hand and squeezed it as Tamara gave Myrmeen the name of the man who had raised her child.

Tamara whispered, “I was angry with you for giving up your baby, Myrmeen. If I had known you had been deceived, that you wanted the child, I would have taken you to her long ago. I thought you came back to Calimport only to cover up your dirty secret. But when I saw you with this one,” she said, pointing weakly at Krystin, “I began to wonder if I was wrong. And later I came to know I was. I’m sorry, Myrmeen.”

“Why did you want to kill Lord Sixx?” Myrmeen asked.

“For the children,” she croaked. “With Sixx dead, it would be decades before another rose to power and made the journey to our homeland to learn the secrets of the apparatus and the Draw—decades of life for children that would have suffered my fate.”

Tamara shuddered. Death was close. Suddenly the images she had glimpsed in the emerald made sense; they had been of her life after death, had revealed her soul’s destination. She was pleasantly surprised to learn that she did not face the dark gods of the Night Parade’s world, but instead the peaceful kingdoms, the afterlife to which humans aspired. In that moment, she knew where she belonged. She knew she had always been human, despite the evil that had been pumped into her veins, the darkness imposed over her soul.

“Take care of your daughters,” Tamara said urgently, then surrendered to death, leaving Myrmeen to question the nature of her final statement.

Light flared from the docks, an explosion of blue-white flame racing high into the air.

“Come on,” Myrmeen said, taking Krystin’s hand.

“We can’t just leave her,” the girl said, gesturing at Tamara’s body. “She’s your sister.”

“We’ll be back for her,” Myrmeen said as she saw bright green strands of lightning lick the sky. She followed the length of the warehouse and peered around the corner to witness a sight that her mind could not at first assimilate. When the shock subsided and she understood what she was looking at, Myrmeen finally began to cry.