Deadly Parade

Below is the American English translation of the text. The dialogues have been formatted in a manner typical of both French literature (with their original phrasing maintained) and American English literature.

The Hero wondered who that girl was who had fixed him so intently; something strange had occurred when their eyes met.

It seemed to indicate a certain worry…

"But seriously, why did she stare at me so insistently? Was she smitten by my rogue pretty-boy charm?" he chuckled inwardly.

Regaining his composure, he noticed that she stood out from her peers. She appeared more timid than the others he had seen climbing those immense structures of rose quartz. Yet the most striking thing he observed about her was that she was without wings—unlike all the girls he had seen ascending in those edifices.

"Maybe she comes from a different race than those other important people who scale these stone 'cakes'?" the boy wondered.

He was interrupted in the midst of his thoughts by an Imperial Guard; he turned toward him nonchalantly and gave him a broad smile.

The Imperial Guard was astonished by what he saw. He had never imagined being confronted with something so strange in his entire life. This "Man," if one could call him that, had no face—only eyes and a mouth against a black background; his brilliantly white teeth contrasted sharply with his shadowy visage.

Once he had regained his composure, he became serious again and demanded an explanation about the young man's attire, adopting a stoic air in an attempt to impress his interlocutor—an effort that failed miserably due to his previous attitude.

The Hero scrutinized him from head to toe and found nothing impressive about that fairy who might have intimidated him.

The guard launched into invective while grabbing the boy by the collar, but this had no effect on the Hero, who strove to make him understand that his threats were utterly meaningless.

Yet something bothered him: the filth—ironic, isn't it? At least he had an excuse. It greatly annoyed him, especially when it did not come from him; it might have occurred elsewhere, with other people—say, at Vicenti's Neck-Cutter—where he would surely have employed his hands to slash without warning.

Unfortunately, given the situation he was in, he could only endure the spit and droplets from that male fairy. Perhaps he should stop showing off—more than he already did—so that, maybe, he might keep that unseemly face at bay.

The people climbing these trapezoidal structures seemed to belong to a certain nobility of this realm, as did their male companions—except for one who did not look very agreeable (the kind of girl the Hero liked). They were all immaculately dressed; their garments appeared to be made of silk, and they wore grand adornments set with various precious stones and strands of gold. Their gowns, armor, chainmail, boots, shoes, weapons, and diadems were breathtakingly beautiful, reminding him of a story told to him long ago.

It was rare to see him so entranced by such things—so superficial in his eyes—as that princely array of garments or that elaborate parade preparation. It was clearly written on the face of a big beta-smiler—or perhaps it was the awkwardness he perceived in that fairy toward him that amused him?

In the end, he thought that acquiring one of those unusual costumes would be lucrative after his escape from this place filled with Faeries—or simply to wear it, since he had every right to don beautiful clothes.

He released the transport bar, shifting all the weight of the chariot onto the two imprisoned colleagues on his side of the building.

Seeing that the structure would not hold with only two humans on that side, he quickly rallied support to help the humans. He couldn't understand how, simply by leaving his "post," he had nearly caused the chariot—which had stood perfectly until then—to collapse. He observed the other chariots and noticed that this was the only one where only two people were assigned to its right side. He could hardly believe that a mere "human" could possess such strength.

While the Hero asked the other guards where he might find the clown costumes given to the other human prisoners, the soldier wondered why the other chariots required at least twenty men on each side to support that enormous construction, whereas for the chariot of the boy with the faded face, only twenty-three were needed in total.

"Unreal," said the warrior, astonished by what he had just discovered. "A human whose strength exceeds that of ogres or trolls defies all notions of reality," he declared aloud, worried.

"And you're not through with your troubles yet," interjected one of the prisoners, cutting short the Imperial Guard's train of thought.

"How so?" asked the impetuous soldier, a bead of sweat trickling down his temple.

"This kid is the worst thing that could happen to this place, filled with dragonflies and other filth," chuckled another transporter, "but don't worry, you just have to avoid angering the kid and nothing will happen…"

"Kid?" said the guard, completely stunned. "Is that humanoid thing even human?"

"Who knows?"

The warrior shook his head, unable to accept it.

"It's impossible! No human can possess the strength of seventeen of your kind!"

"After everything we've seen—both you and I—you can affirm without flinching that this is the most unbelievable thing you've ever witnessed?"

"And worse," warned the first prisoner, "it's nothing compared to what we've seen…"

The royal fighter wanted to ask them a question, but the boy returned—still in his filthy, stinking outfit, looking dimwitted. He approached the guard, handed him a sheet of paper, and then returned to his place, ordering the other guards to leave so he could resume his post. Under the surprised gaze of the Faeries, he easily hoisted the chariot; they could verify the genuine astonishment of their fellow fairy.

The guard read the letter.

It read:

« I categorically refuse to yield one of my sublime costumes to that vile creature. »

He crumpled the sheet into a ball and threw it away. That simple letter reminded him of all his animosity toward the "nobles by association." The arrogance and the shrill voice he detected in every word on that paper horrified him to the highest degree, almost making him forget the anomaly before him.

Two winged soldiers, bearing standards, sounded trumpets, announcing the departure of the column of chariots. Their trumpeting echoed throughout the realm, signaling the start of the coronation ceremony by the parade of the princesses and their champions.

The great gate that led from the royal domain's exterior into the interior of the Kingdom opened. And the parade began.

Despite its picturesque allure, that place—called Haute-Ville—was a captivating and convivial locale. The houses were very different from those he had known in his native village, as if they came from a world entirely foreign to his own.

They reflected the image of their Faerie residents: twisted roofs, garishly colored walls, and a markedly organic aspect, as though built directly among the surrounding trees or by swelling the ground itself. Though strange, they were truly beautiful, covered with flowers.

The Hero observed the place, marveling at this enchanted land, and was amazed to see the joy and good humor emanating from all those gathered around the chariots, momentarily making him forget his precarious situation.

The multitude of Faerie beings assembled there was simply incredible; he had never seen so many gathered in one place. The area seemed peaceful for magical beings… Yet it also showed that they were not entirely welcome in this cheerful world—those who came from outside, especially because they were human.

Although this contagious display of happiness delighted the Hero, he was not duped: not even magical fireworks and multicolored banners could erase the notion that every light casts its own shadow. He had witnessed it on Paradise Island when he was on the track of the Chain-Lands Archipelago. Although that place was paradisiacal, its dark corners eventually emerged on their own, revealing enormous demonic beasts of an appalling ugliness, whose destructive power was truly titanic.

Three weeks—three long weeks that seemed like an eternity—passed during which he had to fight these strange creatures that pursued him, pushing him beyond his limits and inflicting further wounds on his body.

Was it yet another trick on his part? Surely, given the madness he was capable of.

However, at that moment, he did not seem to have been through such ordeals, which did nothing to change his preconceptions about life: neither Humans nor Faeries had ever shown the slightest virtue in this crisis-stricken world, and nothing had ever indicated otherwise since his birth.

After all, his credo was: "If it's too good to be true, then it is!"

Lost in his thoughts as he mechanically followed the procession, something came to disturb his reflection.

He heard something running. The sound of this stranger's footsteps was odd—it resonated differently from those of the children running beside the chariots. The Hero tried to ignore this runner, but his determined stride made it clear he was moving purposefully. If it were merely a pickpocket, he had no reason to interfere; it was none of his business. Many thieves took advantage of the festivities to pilfer a few items from dazed people. Nothing unusual, even in this utopia for Faeries.

Yet his instinct told him that the man running was not a mere petty thief—his gait was far too different, too assured… He then heard a thud from one of the chariots as if something had struck it. The Hero could not imagine that any inhabitant would think to hurl a stone at one of the chariots. The sounds of footsteps changed, producing a noise different in tone and direction from that of the usual footfall.

To be sure, he discreetly knocked against the side of the chariot, and the sound confirmed his suspicions.

Something had scaled one of the chariots…

An assassin.

If he were moving, he could not be above the chariots—the seats, parasols, and warriors would prevent him from moving discreetly. The only possibility was that the assassin was on the side of the chariot and, judging by the sound, was indeed on his side. The space between the chariots was too vast for him to move quietly, forcing him inevitably to jump. The Hero had detected no magic that would allow him to leap so far and silently to avoid detection by anyone in this realm, and he had never heard of an assassin's armor that enabled ten-meter jumps.

It was impossible that a mere human could be charged with attacking those on the chariots; it could only be a Faerie, and it was highly likely that he was local, for not a single prisoner was missing.

The creature stood facing him, for the sound came from directly ahead.

Yet, if the Hero were facing the assassin, he should have seen him—but there was nothing before him.

Could it be invisibility magic? He was surrounded by magical creatures, and the fact that mages used magic to perform their tricks to distract the populace did little to help him discern whether the hitman was indeed employing magic.

But upon considering the evidence, he didn't need to know whether the assassin used magic to camouflage himself—by thinking it through, he clearly saw what kind of creature it was.

And it was none other than a lizard-man.

Lizard-men had the ability to be both bipedal and quadrupedal. Their limbs and feet allowed them to move silently, and they could transform their extremities into suction cups to cling to any surface. Only the most experienced among them could do so without a sound, but there existed a subspecies particularly prized in the field of assassination—one that resembled a chameleon. Their bulging, independently moving eyes made them especially hard to catch off guard, yet that rendered them almost entirely visible. They had, however, found a solution to this problem: a newfound ability to render themselves invisible to everyone's eyes.

Unfortunately, the physical capabilities of every species remain less perfect than those offered by magic. This means that whenever the procession passed through shadowy areas, the Hero could, despite his poor eyesight, barely distinguish the assassin. The only problem was determining that he was indeed his target.

Because of the way the Powerful of this world exploited their abilities, lizard-men were a discriminated people; they had always kept a low profile among the population, for they were feared by all and treated as pariahs, regardless of their subspecies.

The Hero had always longed to see a lizard-man in action. Would he intervene? After all, he called himself the Hero, and that was no accident. Even though he detested it, wasn't a true hero meant to meddle in the affairs of others?

Certainly not! His answer was unequivocal.

The Hero thought, "Meddling in other people's affairs only brings trouble upon us."

The lizard-man's footsteps stopped at the third chariot in front of the Hero. He had just reached the chariot of his target, but there was no further sound—as if the lizard-man had vanished.

Suddenly, he felt something scrape his cheek, and blood began to flow from the wound.

None of the guards had attacked him; to martyrize them in front of everyone would ruin the spectacle, so they couldn't afford to play cowboys before all.

"A projectile?" he wondered. "He would have heard it hit the ground. Besides, he would have surely seen it and dodged it."

It could only have come from the lizard-man. He must have attacked him with his long, pointed tongue. Had the lizard-man discovered that he had noticed his presence? If so, it must have been an attack meant to intimidate the Hero so that he wouldn't alert the guards—and he knew that killing the attacker would disrupt the parade, which would not play in his favor, for the guards would certainly rush to the aid of the nobles, leaving him powerless.

The Hero wiped the blood from his cheek but remained unruffled, continuing to fix his gaze on the road as if he had not noticed the attacker's presence.

For a brief moment—which seemed to last an eternity—they looked at each other, as the Hero concentrated fully to outwit the assassin. The lizard-man once again extended his tongue to slash at the boy's other cheek; the latter rubbed his newly injured cheek with the back of his hand to stem the superficial flow of blood, feigning ignorance of the attack.

Convinced that he had not been noticed, the lizard-man resumed his movement—but this time, he moved vertically, reinforcing the Hero's intuition that his target had already been reached.

He recognized that this assassin was a professional; no guard or civilian had detected his presence. Yet, that was still very strange. He would concede that the technology of the greatest human cities was incredibly advanced, but he could not believe that the magic of this place was so fallible as to allow one of these important persons to be killed without reaction.

It was all far too strange.

Emerging from his thoughts, he remembered who was in the chariot on which the lizard-man had climbed: it was the girl who had been frightened upon seeing him! He didn't know why he felt pity for her; the fact that he had scared her amused him, yet in that gaze filled with terror, he had sensed a certain innocence in the princess. He couldn't explain the peculiar sensation twisting in his stomach; those eyes reminded him of the only friend he had ever had in this world.

The boy was torn between his desire to help the princess—regain the role that troubled him by meddling in this affair—and playing dumb, simply continuing as a transporter. Moreover, if this girl died, it would give him the chance to escape this place… Yet it was not in his nature to let someone die in his stead for his own benefit, or merely to save his own life.

"Nature, once chased away, returns at a gallop!"

Sighing in exasperation at his heroic nature, he released the transport bar that had supported the chariot and clambered atop it at full speed, causing the other human prisoners to collapse under the colossal weight of the structure they were carrying. The other chariots began to collide with the one that halted, one after another, as in a highway accident.

The princess in the chariot under the Hero's load was none other than the one of Dame Diasirée—the very princess who despised the wingless fairy.

Lost in thought, Mananélia did not see what made her so special that Queen Audisélia could tolerate the existence of this disgrace in addition to that of the other inept boy. Worst of all were the men of her people, who forgave her because she possessed a certain "charm" and, of course, advantageous "curves."

"Incompetent swine!" Diasirée thought to herself.

In terms of beauty, she was not to be pitied; she was pleasant to behold and was even one of the most coveted girls in the kingdom among all the princesses of the queen's court—one could easily rank her among the top ten of the most beautiful royal buds. Was it jealousy toward the Fairy because she would be rated higher than her in the unofficial rankings? It went beyond that, for the fact that the wingless fairy resembled the Félonne in every detail contributed to the hatred she inspired. But the disgust Diasirée felt for the Fairy was far more personal and irrational than one might suppose.

In truth, the Fairy was nothing more than collateral damage from the misdeeds of her own best friend Mina, whom she had taken delight in nicknaming "the Bitch or the Pooch of the Abomination of the Fairies."

What a torture it was to have to find oneself behind that good-for-nothing fairy, incapable of being born with wings, when she believed herself so superior to the Fairy. But, alas, she could only obey so that one of these ditzies might succeed in her coup...

"These men who organized this assassination must have plenty of time to waste..."

Suddenly, a dark silhouette obstructed her view. She had no time to discern what it was before her chariot was rammed by other chariots from behind, knocking her from her seat and causing her parasol to fall.

"Satan-damned humans!" she hissed between her teeth, "unable to perform a task as simple as stopping when faced with an obstacle!"

The would-be princess looked up and was stricken with fear upon seeing an unknown figure standing before her. Was she hallucinating—seeing someone dare to climb onto her chariot in front of the throng of guards? Or was she being targeted by an assassin sent by another princess? Who?

How had the guards not noticed the arrival of such a "dark" figure in the city? Diasirée wondered, noting the pestilential odor emanating from him. It was absolutely certain that he could not go unnoticed.

Frozen with fear, no cry, sound, or whisper escaped her lips.

What was this thing that had come to kill her?

Fortunately for her, her champion Al-Ryanis was sharp-witted and not easily intimidated—even by this obscure stranger. He armed himself with his lance and pointed it toward the interloper.

"Back off!" exclaimed the champion, "don't you dare come near Her Highness Diasirée!" he warned, tightening his grip on his lance—this would be your only warning!

The stranger stood there, momentarily stunned. He raised his arms delicately before surreptitiously seizing the decorative weapon of his opponent, nodding in thanks before leaping onto the chariot across from him.

Catching his breath, the princess rose, astonished, as was her champion, at this absurd turn of events.

"Did he really just run off with my lance?" Al-Ryanis asked with a nervous smile.

"Indeed..." the princess added, equally dumbfounded.

(Internal thought: "That's better than having your chariot hijacked.")

The princess slumped back into her princely seat and rested her head in the crook of her hand.

"What an amusing character!" thought Princess Diasirée to herself.

This princess was much taller than the Fairy; she had the same hair color, yet her long locks far exceeded those of her rival—perhaps a matter of proportionality—her figure was more slender and her eyes a much darker shade of pink than those of the wingless fairy.

"That guy doesn't at all look like an assassin, and he doesn't seem to belong to the Faeries, even though his body exudes dark magic. Do you reckon he intends to save her?" one voice queried.

"There's no doubt about it," Al-Ryanis replied.

"I don't know who commissioned this assassination, but I'm certain they didn't expect a 'valiant knight' among the humans," joked Dame Diasirée with a wry smile.

"I find you rather cheerful for someone who was on her knees in front of that human," remarked the ogre, "and it wouldn't surprise me if you were behind this order..."

The princess turned and glared at him, her look unyielding toward the champion, deepening her sneer; she felt this attack was like a spit upon her soul. She resumed her original position and produced a strawberry-scented chewing gum she had brought with her—even though her tutor had expressly forbidden it—and chewed it fiercely, outraged by the arrogance of her fighter.

"What insolence from a lackey! Aren't you afraid of having your head torn from your body for such an insult to me?" she spat.

"You wouldn't dare do that to your faithful footstool, my oldest and dearest friend," he replied, feigning hurt, merely for a trivial question.

"First of all, Roxanne IS my oldest friend and Jacob IS my dearest friend," the princess corrected, "and as you said, you're nothing but a footstool for my ambitions—a tool to help me ascend the throne..."

"That hurts me deeply," he replied, feigning sadness and even wiping his eyes as his mockery continued.

"Well, we are both saddened by each other's words!" the princess retorted while chewing her gum more vigorously. "I cannot believe you think I'm so weak that I cannot defeat her on my own against that... seductress... that debauched... that hideous wretch... knowing that I've wagered half my destiny on you!"

Al-Ryanis snorted, amused.

"Not only do you go too far with that poor damsel—who isn't nearly as horrible as you think, for she is quite pleasant to behold..."

"You're certainly a man," she hissed.

"And a complete one, madam," mocked the ogre, "and thankfully not a fairy. But you're really putting the pressure on me."

"It's good that you see I expect a lot from you."

"I still have one small question: how can you be so certain that this guy who appeared before us is truly human?"

"Because in all of this kingdom, no one would have taken the trouble to help the one who bears the same features as the one who has brought disgrace upon our race."

Soon, guards came to check on Princess Diasirée and her champion; she complained about the slowness of their intervention just as a piercing cry rang out before them.