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After a long minute, one by one, spectators began rising out of their seats. At first, he thought it might be in some sort of protest of their war efforts, perhaps an expression of disapproval of Endelle’s policies or the recent battle at the Grand Canyon.
Instead, however, applause began, and more and more people rose to their feet turning to face their box. This was not disapprobation. Quite the opposite.
He was stunned, feeling as though a sharp breeze had just struck his face. He looked back at Zacharius who was now smiling. He leaned forward and said, “I think they might be expressing their appreciation for what we do. Imagine that.”
A full minute passed and nearly every person had risen to their feet. Whistles started up as well until soon the arena theater was a sea of thunderous applause, shouting, and hoots.
Then Fiona stood, stepping away from him, from his brother warriors, and also offering her applause. Her eyes were drenched with tears as she smiled down at him.
He turned and waved Santiago and Zach forward to stand beside him, which they did. The applause escalated into a roar.
Jean-Pierre had never experienced anything like this in his life. He was moved beyond words. He put his hand over his heart and offered a bow. More shouts and whistles. All three warriors bowed repeatedly. He did not know how long it would continue, but finally the lights in the theater dimmed, a sure signal that Dark Spectacle was about to begin, and at last the audience returned to their seats.
* * *
Fiona sat down again and wiped away her tears. She was so moved by what had just happened, for such an outward and enormous show of support for the warriors. Given that she and Jean-Pierre both believed there was significant danger in the event this evening, and that it was possible some of that danger might be directed toward the notables present, she was grateful she had insisted on coming tonight. She had no idea what was about to happen, but that her presence might be necessary weighed on her.
She didn’t understand all that living on Second Earth entailed, but five months had taught her that increased power often demanded an intuitive approach. Her intuition had screamed at her to attend Dark Spectacle and with so many notables present, she began to understand that the scope of the situation could certainly be much larger than she had imagined.
She folded her hands on her lap and took a deep breath. She relaxed her shoulders and sank inward, focusing her thoughts on all that was around her, all the people leaning forward in their seats, the vibrations of excitement in the air.
Off to the right some fifty feet was the entrance point for the performers, an enormous black tunnel that had been given the shape of a dark cave, the underworld spilling forth its secrets.
From the opening, a long black pathway, perhaps thirty yards in length, rose at a steep angle. The path was maybe ten feet wide and led to an expansive central, circular stage that had to be fifteen yards across.
To the left of the round stage in a semicircle was a huge double orchestra that rose from the depths.
A heavy roll of drums began. Shivers and goose bumps traveled up and down Fiona’s body. Jean-Pierre reached for her hand and she gave it to him gratefully. She leaned close. She had heard so much about Dark Spectacle and if just this pounding of drums was any indication, the show would astonish and terrify even on its own merit.
What else the evening might have in store for them, she didn’t want to imagine.
The music began, filling the entire space, driving hard. She touched Jean-Pierre’s sleeve and looked at him. To his mind, she sent, I don’t know this music.
Holst’s The Planets. I believe it is “Mars.”
If she made it through this night, she wanted to listen to it again. It’s amazing, she sent.
Yes, it is.
From the cave, and lit with dim spotlights, came a sudden brisk flow of women flying in full-mount, all bearing dark gray wings, all wearing strange gray costumes that looked both ethereal and dirty, like substantial cobwebs that hung for thirty feet from their arms and legs as they flew up the ramped path. Once they reached the circle they began to fly in an ever-increasing spiral up and up. There must have been fifty of these women, flying in formation so tight and exact through the spiral that one error would send them all spinning out of control.
But by the time they were essentially flying in this enormous whirlwind of movement, the audience was crying out and applauding like mad. Lights from the ceiling above grew from white to pink to red until the whole image shifted to the appearance of flames flickering above the round stage.
The music thumped through the arena.
The women flew.
And from the center of the stage, a man appeared, rising on a small circular platform no more than five feet across, rising up into the center of the flame.
As he ascended, his costume began to flow past the edge of the circle for several feet until the bottom edge suddenly burst into flame. Cries went up from all around the audience, but the central performer merely turned in a circle and the flames stayed burning just at the hem of the garment.
“Welcome,” the man called out.
“Casimir,” Fiona said.
“I am Rimizac, your host for tonight.” He spread his arms wide. “Welcome to Dark Spectacle.”
The applause resounded through the vast length of the theater. Even though Fiona knew she was seeing and hearing Casimir, she was amazed by what she saw and applauded with everyone else.
The women flying in the red flame-like tornado around him now began to depart as seamlessly as they had come, one by one, flying back down the ramp at amazing speed into the cave.
The music subsided then drifted into the most exquisite and strange melancholy tone, very impressionistic. Casimir held his arms wide; the flames at the hem of his robe exploded then turned to large white puffs of smoke that drifted into the air. “Bring the sacrificial lamb to me,” he called out. “Bring her to me.”
He extended both his hands in the direction of the cave’s mouth.
Two enormous men, bodies gleaming and oiled and wearing only loincloths, were in full-mount. Their wings were identical and almost pure white, very large, magnificent. Between them they held aloft a woman whose costume was nothing more than a few streamers of a green mesh fabric. She was otherwise naked.
“She’s naked,” Fiona said aloud. She was stunned.
Her legs thrashed in the air as the two men flew her in the direction of Casimir.
“Her wings are not mounted,” Jean-Pierre added.
Fiona clung to his arm. She didn’t like where this was headed.
The two men flew the woman to Casimir and dumped her at his feet on the platform. The woman either was unconscious now or pretended to be. She rolled to the side and fell limply off the small raised circular platform.
