Nighter

by Magdalena Kozak

  And strengthen our... motivation? the other added immediately. Possible, very possible. He wanted to teach us a small lesson? You know, so we’re reminded how things go?

  Exactly. Which means our standing is not that bad, Nidor summed up. A show like that is normal, they do it to every young one sooner or later...

  Both nighters brightened up visibly. Smiles full of relief lit their faces up.

  “You’re horrible,” Crumbly said with disgust. “I mentioned an execution and you get so happy,” he shook his head. “I’m not sure if I like being friends with vampires...” he said a little more quietly.

  “And I can’t wait,” the recruit sighed painfully. “Once I’m able to join the nighters...”

  “It’s not that simple,” Vesper said suddenly. “You know, being on this side of the Night has a cost. Only in the beginning you think you would pay any price... only after, once you’re in, you start to have doubts. But then it’s too late to back out.”

  “Oh, that’s normal, same with all special units,” the A-T stated with a bit of contempt. “It’s only perfect in the movies, obviously. So, you only take the best, right?”

  “No,” Nidor stated in a surprisingly cool tone. “We take the worst. Only those fit in here.”

  He got up and made his way toward the bathroom. As he walked by the kitchen annex, he tossed his half-emptied bag of blood in the sink. Some of it splashed on the walls and ran down in red streams.

  “Get ready,” he added, stopping at the door. “We have to look highly polished. That’s what the lord ordered.” He got in the bathroom and closed the door.

  They got up from their spots and moved toward their cabinets. Somehow, they didn’t feel like talking anymore.

  ***

  The convicts kneeled in a row. All three of them. Their foreheads touched the floor.

  Only one thought swirled around them. It was everywhere: in the lords’ frosty eyes, in the disdainful looks of the crowd filling the Capitol’s Great Hall, and finally in their own minds.

  That one horrifying thought.

  Dishonor.

  They were bent as if they carried an invisible weight on their backs. Neither their hands nor legs were limited by any cuffs. Despite that, none of them tried to run, none of them even twitched. Time froze for them somehow, forcing them to taste the pain and fear, to chew on the shame.

  They were motionless on the dais in Dishonor Gallery. They rested their foreheads on the cool granite, closing their eyes tightly. Tears escaped through the lashes now and then.

  None of them dared to raise his eyes. The condemnation coming from the eyes of all the gathered was especially painful. There were several hundred people in the hall... and each thought it prudent to voice their anger and disdain.

  Convicts. Felons, sacrilegious, law-rapists. Displayed for the public, so everyone could see what the wrongful use of a Second Chance leads to.

  The Dishonor Gallery was on the right side and slightly lower than the central dais, the most important place in the Great Hall.

  Capitol’s members sat there on purple thrones. Five vampire lords, like five ice sculptures, stared into the crowd.

  Suddenly, silence fell in the hall. Lord Ultor stood up, and with a barely noticeable wave of his hand silenced the talk. He glanced to the left at the three human witnesses, sitting in blue chairs. He nodded at them solemnly. They responded with nods full of respect.

  “We have gathered here today for justice,” Ultor announced rather loudly. “Before you are the felons, judged and convicted.”

  He walked slowly to the gallery. He reached the stairs leading to it and stopped. He glanced at the convicts with solemn, merciless eyes.

  They trembled. They began to steal swift and secret glances at him, without lifting their foreheads off the floor.

  He motioned for them to stand.

  They obeyed instantly, standing up from their kneeling positions, and stood, bowing humbly. So far, none of them had let their dishonor grow with crying or screaming. They held on bravely... for now.

  The gathered pursed their lips, looking nervously over at the human representatives, and then back at the convicts. The air in the hall thickened with silent pleas.

  Hold on. You have to. Whatever happens now, take it with humility and dignity. You humiliated all of us enough. Now show that we still have some... honor.

  “We accepted you into our midst,” Lord Ultor said slowly, his words whipped them. “In hope that you would use your Second Chance as best as you could. That you would wake up for the Night without breaking the new law, without breaking the truce with Day.”

  He was silent for a moment, looked over the vampires gathered in the hall, then slid his eyes over the humans, to finally look at the convicts again.

  “You disappointed us,” he said through clenched teeth.

  The convicts stood motionless, with their eyes fixed on the floor. Suddenly, one of them jerked, as if he wanted to say something, deny something, maybe protest... but he stopped instantly, as if whipped by Lord Ultor’s brief glare.

  Hundreds of uncertain looks turned to the humans. Had they noticed anything? Perhaps...

  They sat calmly with stony expressions, not allowing anything to show on their faces. Their guards also stood unmoved, as if turned into stone.

  “The sentence,” Ultor announced loudly.

  At these words, the lords got up from their thrones and the humans from their chairs. Complete silence fell in the hall.

  “Acalanthis,” the first call came.

  The convict stepped out from the row. He climbed the short stairs joining the gallery with the dais.

  He reached Lord Ultor, and kneeled before him. He trembled heavily, but he still held himself together bravely.

  “You broke the law,” Ultor said, folding his black coat back and pulling the sword from its sheath. “You killed a man, a son of Day, sank your fangs in him. Day doesn’t exist without the Night, or Night without the Day. You will cease to exist as well.”

  He took a step forward and to the side, so that he ended up at the convict’s side. He raised his sword, stared at the man’s paled face for a moment, at his lips moving silently... he let the sword fall with all his strength. A sharp flash of steel, muffled crunch, and screech.

  The vampire’s head rolled over the dais, the torso fell weakly. Blood splattered around, marking the dais with scarlet, and splashing the lord’s coat. He let the sword down, turning toward the human envoys.

  “The justice has been done,” he said with an unmoved expression.

  “You obey the law,” they confirmed, faces pale.

  Crumbly, sitting among them, barely stuttered his text, then turned back slightly, stealing a glance back. Vesper and Nidor stood right behind him, poker-straight and stony-faced.

  The police officer faced the stage again and moved his eyes to the convict’s body.

  Helpers had approached it already. One of them picked up the severed head, wrapping it in black velvet. The other two took care of headless corpse, one holding the body down while the other hammered a wooden pin in the chest with muffled blows. It was an empty gesture, as the vampire was certainly dead... but the letter of the law had to be fulfilled.

  According to rules and honor.

  The helpers were finally done and picked the body up, disappearing behind a small, semi-round side door right by the gallery stairs. They returned after a moment, and waited by the wall, not even bothering to clean the blood dripping from their hands. Another corpse would need attending to in a moment.

  “Barrus,” the lord called out calmly.

  Another convict climbed the stairs, his legs trembling. He stole a glance around the hall and pursed his lips, as if that would give him strength. He reached Ultor and kneeled sideways to him, right in the pool of blood. He bowed his head, stretching his neck.

  “You broke the law,” the Lord repeated sacramentally. “You killed a man, a son of Day, sank your fangs in him. Day doesn’t exi
st without the Night, or Night without the Day. You will cease to exist as well.” He raised the sword.

  The blade swished. The katana’s sharp steel ripped through the skin, muscles, tendons, and crunched over the vertebrae. It ran further, dropping the severed head down with a stream of blood.

  Another torso fell at Ultor’s feet.

  “Justice has been done,” Ultor said calmly, turning his head slightly toward the humans.

  “You obey the law,” they said weakly. The helpers came up and removed the second body.

  “Calcar,” the lord said.

  The called man froze. He tried to take a step forward, but his fear-filled legs refused to cooperate. He threw Ultor a nervous, begging look. His thoughts nearly screamed, and most of the stronger of the gathered vampires could pick them up.

  Help me, my lord. I’d like to come up... but I can’t. Don’t let me shame myself completely, my lord. Help me.

  Lord pursed his lips in an angry grimace. He glanced at the humans out of the corner of his eye. They sat in their chairs, tensely focused on the victim. The Warrior Family’s head flashed a glance, under which the convict rolled forward, as if pushed by an invisible force. The vampire used it eagerly, and his legs moved again, dragged him up the stairs. He kneeled before the lord, with a startling relief in his face. He bowed his head, surrendering it to the blow, then closed his eyes tightly.

  Ultor spoke the verdict again. He swung the sword swiftly, as if he wasn’t quite sure of the convict’s resolve, and didn’t want to risk any kind of compromising situation. He separated the head from the torso with a powerful, strong blow. He faced the humans with the traditional question of satisfaction. They confirmed it again.

  The helpers struck the wooden pin in at lightning speed. They picked the dead body up, slipping in the growing pool of blood.

  Ultor shook droplets of blood from his katana in a short swing, and put the sword back in the sheath. The blade screeched stickily.

  “Non nocemus hominibus,” he announced aloud.

  He looked around the hall, seeing as the gathered cower under his eyes. He nodded, then turned back and walked slowly back to his throne. He sat down in silence.

  Lord Candor stood up from his place slowly.

  “I call this Capitol’s meeting over,” he announced solemnly. “Go back home, Children of Night.” He turned slightly sideways, toward the humans. “We thank you for coming, Children of Day.”

  The humans vacated their seats in complete silence. The lords stood as well. They approached their guests, thanking them again silently. They approached the door together, nighters and praetorians following them.

  Crumbly faced Nidor and Vesper, who had walked behind him the whole time.

  “Senseless, unnecessary barbarism!” he muttered in silent anger. “Brutal massacre for a bloodthirsty crowd’s enjoyment, that’s all!”

  They didn’t answer, holding their heads up and not switching their stony expressions even by a jot.

  He fell silent as well. He walked ahead, and obvious disapproval emanated from his every move. The gathered began to leave too, the hall slowly emptied. Two janitors entered the dais, dragging buckets of cleaning liquid. They began to wash the blood off the floor in slow, meticulous moves.

  Four riders are coming, riding...

  The first brings you hunger

  Brings you hunger, thirst

  The first brings you hunger

  You will never be full again

  Never again

  The first brings you hunger

  Hunger in every part of

  Your body

  He brings you hunger, which you don’t want

  But you will get anyway

  The second brings you war

  Brings you the war in the east

  And in the west brings it too

  You will no longer know peace

  Cannon boom will wake you

  The second brings you war

  Brings you war you don’t want

  But you will get it anyway

  The third brings you death

  He brings death to your close ones

  And to your strangers

  The third brings you death

  Death of your body and soul

  He brings you death you don’t want

  But you will get it anyway

  But don’t lose hope, don’t lose

  Hope

  Don’t lose hope, not allowed to lose it

  The fourth brings you

  He’s mightier than the other

  Three

  He brings you love and faith

  And love

  He brings you sun and stars

  He’s mightier than the other

  Three.

  Kult. Riders

  Convoy

  Vesper stood at the window and stared straight at the sun. He squinted his eyes slightly, because it blinded him...

  But it didn’t burn. So he stared, enchanted, at it.

  Someone walked up behind him, and gently put a hand on his shoulder. He turned around, curious. He looked straight into the eyes of the woman standing next to him, eyes that burned with a mysterious element. Those same, unforgettable eyes, where fire raged and a wild storm tumbled.

  He sighed deeply, overwhelmed by an unmeasurable relief. So the one he’d yearned for so much came to him, at last. The woman smiled silently. She took her hand off his shoulder, and gently, slowly caressed his cheek. He raised his hands and grabbed hers instantly, pressing it to his lips. He closed his eyes, tasting her silky skin.

  The woman kept watching him, spreading her lips slightly in an invitation to kiss. He raised his eyes, sighed with pleasure, and let go of her hand. He embraced the woman and pulled her toward himself. She molded to him instantly, lifting her face up. He bent his head, greedily searching for her lips. His thirsty tongue found its way between them quickly, meeting her tongue. They kissed hurriedly, hungrily, their bodies molding even closer together.

  He moved his hands down her back and squeezed her firm buttocks. He stopped kissing her lips, and let his lips travel down her chin, then down her neck... he felt his swollen member pulsating with growing desire as he pressed himself to her hips.

  Suddenly, she slipped from his embrace, lightly, without difficulty, as if she were nothing but mist. She looked at him with this wild, magnetizing gaze again.

  “Come,” she said quietly.

  He nodded eagerly. Just looking at her filled him with unexplained pleasure. He wanted her so much... he wanted her so unimaginably much...

  Suddenly he woke with a small scream.

  He glanced at the stain on his boxers with disbelief. A wet dream... something like that hadn’t happened to him in years. Not since he’d stopped being a constantly horny teenager. He sat on the bed trembling, then he ran his hand over his sweaty forehead.

  “Oh shit,” he let out with a gasp. “Damn it.”

  He got up, then walked to the bathroom briskly. He slipped his boxers off and got in the shower.

  He tried to gather his chaotic thoughts under the hot water jets.

  He didn’t have sliver of doubt as to who his night time visitor was. Aranea.

  Maybe he should tell Lord Ultor about it immediately. It shouldn’t have happened, it’s not good... it could be the renegade lord’s trick.

  Sure, you idiot, he scolded himself after a moment. Go to Ultor and tell him, you know, my lord, I had a dream about your ex. I really wanted to bone her. Any advice?

  He shook his head with a sigh. This would be ideal water that would put Alacer’s accusation mill into motion. Another argument confirming his suspicions. Besides, it was just a dream.

  Maybe—eventually—he could talk to Nidor about it. At the right time, obviously. If it came up.

  He sighed deeply and turned the shower off. He left the bathroom naked, dripping with water, and went back to his bedroom, and lay on his bed. Scenes from the dream appeared before his eyes, and he couldn’t chase them
away no matter how hard he tried.

  ***

  The siren sounded a signal which was on threshold of audibility for humans, but was intercepted perfectly by the nighters’ honed senses. A characteristic sound: a long whistle, one short bang of sounds, one long, two short. A break, then the same thing over again.

  Vesper raised his lids, still heavy with sleep. He sat on the bed and rubbed his eyes. He didn’t remember when he had managed to fall asleep. He had been tormented by hunger and unfulfilled desire nearly until the evening.

  He got up heavily, and threw black sweats on. Each move was slow and forced, as if he was surrounded by some thick, sticky substance instead of air. He really didn’t feel like going anywhere; he would prefer to curl into a ball on his bed, cover his head with a blanket, and stay like that for a day or two... or maybe even longer. Or forever, because why not?

  But he had to move, whether he wanted to or not. The siren was a sign for his shift, signaling the mealtime. At least he would be able to satisfy one type of hunger, it was better than nothing.

  He walked over reluctantly to the TV room with a hung head and hands in his pockets, dragging his feet. He trained his eyes on the gray carpet, not looking at the other nighters, dragging themselves as lamely as he did.

  When he finally reached the hall, he glanced around it dispassionately. The bar, always offering cool, artificial blood, was now completely empty. They couldn’t just walk over and have a drink whenever they felt like it anymore. Now the siren called the nighters for a meal, and they lined up obediently.

  One word full of despair kept hanging in the air, crushing them all with its weight.

  Hunger.

  Vesper sighed and joined the row of black-clad individuals. He glanced at Nidor, who pulled plastic bags from a large carton, and tossed two to each of the nighters.

  Vesper shook his head. Two packets, two one-pint packets of blood. And that’s supposed to last all day. Just yesterday there were three...which means it’s bad, really bad.

  His turn came at last. He grabbed his share and nodded at Nidor. The other smiled weakly, then dived into the box in search of sustenance for the next nighter.

  Vesper moved to the side. He ripped the bag slowly, carefully, gently, just so he wouldn’t lose a single drop. He began drinking the life-sustaining liquid with relief.