The Silver Princess

The sunlight shifts slowly across the bare, uncarpeted floor, exposing the dents and dings ground into the wooden floor by decades of hard, careless usage. The suns movement seems to pause on a black smeer almost blood like in texture. It is an accusing, stark reminder of the last decade of the country's gore encrusted history. I shudder, look away, through the window, down the barrel of my tried and trusted "long gun", past the telescopic sight at the sunny bunting strewn street. At the people, out in numbers, confident of their safety, of the ending of the nighmare, waiting for the arrival of the "Silver Princess", architect of their survival, the resurrection of hope and peace. I shift on the hard stool that Bill the Fixer provided. I resist the urge to check the snipers rifle again with its special bullets, each carefully crafted, hand made, the black powder carefully mixed, weighed and tamped into the cartridge and each shell, carefully, painstakingly created for optimal accuracy. I will get only one chance to fire. Time for at most three shots, if I miss all that I and a legion of others, living and dead fought for over the gory years will be gone and the battle rejoined. My hands tend to sweat before a kill. I take the already sodden cloth out of my pocket, dry my hand and drops it back into the small pail provided by BIll the Fixer. It is the only other object in the room. When I am finished I must leave nothing behind to mark who pulled the trigger. That was my condition. No one must know that I did the deed. I have too much blood on my hands now, one more will endanger me and all who trust in me. There are still those who miss the old times and would seek to wreak revenge on me, my comrade and long forgotten family.

Suddenly the far end of the street erupts in cheers, music, ululations, sounds of joy, a chant, "Silver Princess, Silver Princess!". I pull the stock into my shoulder, I look through the sight and start breathing, slowly, easily and gently. I sweeps up the road from the commotion to the cross road just below me and I searches for The Dog. Nothing, Where is he? I looks back at the procession moving toward me. Closer now, noiser, joyful, doomed. Peripheral vision kicks in. The Dog is there, facing away from the procession road, up the way they had not expected, not planned for. It makes the shot infinitely more difficult. The window I am using provides only a few degrees of movement. One shot, maybe two, three will be almost impossible. The pressure ratchets up, sweat drips off the pistol grip of the rifle onto the floor, missing the pail. Too bad, no time now, my breathing is now far too fast, almost ragged. The head of the procession is in the intersection moving far too fast, too fast. The critical moment is upon them. Doubts rage inside my head. I mentally flatten everything in my head. Peace serenity, it will all be over soon. One way or another.

The Dog is behaving strangely, lifting his front paws off the ground, looking upwards, frantically pawing the air. I am confused because The Dog is usually calm, composed, then he looks up, higher than they planned for. The Silver Princess is in the intersection and above The Dog's head the air begins to shimmer, black sparkles coruscate in the empty air, the building across the road suddenly starts to shimmer, obeying unconscious instincts I fire a single shot over the heads of the crowd, into the shimmer that starts to coalesce into a roiling black ball and, as the ball solidifies I fire another and another. I chambers a fourth round but it is too late, the round would hit the innocent if I miss. The black shimmering object pauses over the head of the Silver Princess and the Brood Mother lurches into visibility, mortally wounded, it still tries to strike down at the Silver Princess. Without any conscious thought, the rifle roars again, the Brood Mother is slammed up and away from the crowd exposing it to weapon fire from the honour guard and, under the concentrated fire the Brood Mother disintegrates into a black mess of gore. The Silver Princess is nowhere to be seen, someone had used their brains, got an armoured vehicle in as a float which is now racing down the road sirens wailing.

Shaking I strip the rifle down, extract the two remaining cartridges, droping the rifle into the pail, the rounds into my walking staff and leave the room, dropping the pail into a garbage bin at the door. It makes a strange rattling, noise and disappears from the bin. Bill the Fixer and his fancy solutions. I hobble slowly down the stairs not needing to put much effort into the limp. My old wound takes vengeance for hours of stillness. I slip out the door and head away from the intersection, briefly noting that The Dog is nowhere to be seen. The crowd is still pushing and shoving, shouting, panicked so I dont take too much notice when two big men move past me on either side, but I do notice the sharp pain in my buttock and the sudden loss of control of my legs. I am fleetingly grateful to the two big men who stop me falling to the ground, they don't stop the blackness from swallowing me and I drift down a long dark corridor lined with soft black down feathers and then consciousness is gone.

Softness is replaced by thirst. Raging thirst. I need to drink. My whole frame rages with its addiction. Sweat beads my brow trickling into my eyes, my heart races, I can feel my muscles changing, straining against the restraints and then the pain comes, overwhelming, shockin. I scream. I hear myself voice fury, hunger, pain and frustration mixed into a sound of pure madness.

"Sit still or the pain will increase." Male voice. I slump back, old experience overriding the other drives.

"Been here before?" the voice again.

I snarl an answer. It comes out garbled. A mix of English, Creole and Brood Talk. I prise my eyes open and stare at the source of the voice. I force my eyes to focus. As my eyes focus I see a young soldier opposites me, I can smell his blood. Uncontrolled rage and I hiss and lung forward. The pain is cataclysmic, paralysing, but still the guard takes two steps backwards, paling and reaching for his weapon.

"They should have killed you before you came round."

The weapon is clear of the holster, the guards hand is shaking as he takes aim.

Something cold enters my soul. I am used to controlling the bloodlust

"If you havent silver in that gun, you will just feed me power and I will eat you. Put it away. Fool." It comes out reasonably sensible and guard hesitates, holsters the gun but keeps his back against the far wall, watchful.

Control slowly returns. I explore the mental environment around me. The prickle I can feel to my left is Bill the Fixer. Awake and soothing. No sign of The Dog though. Not surprising. It would be a clever trap to catch him. Not like me. I must be getting old.

Then I look down at my restraints; handcuffs, chains, bolted to a table. Table legs cemented into the ground. Metal chair equally solidly part of the floor. No wonder I couldnt break free.

I look at the guard.

"Did they tell you to summon someone when I awoke?"

The guard shakes his head.

"Shall I call them?"

The guard just looks scared.

"Sit on the floor."

The guard doesn't move.

"Sit down or fall down. Sit, NOW!" I push some mental hostility at the guard and he slumps into the corner too terrified to do anything but obey.

And then I call her. I put all the pain, the emotion, the horror of the last decade into that call. I call the Silver Princess.

Silence. Nothing.

I look oer at the guard who is curled up in the corner whimpering.

The thirst returns. Hard. I clench my hands, my teeth, my soul.

And we wait.

Then I feel her approaching. Unmistakeable for the reason she is called the Silver Princess, the reason I came out of retirement, out of my carefully constructed guarded refuge, into a world where I am a danger to all around me, my family, myself. She has a blindingly bright silver aura that heals, that controls a power that no one else in the world has access to. Only the Brood Mother that I shot at the cross roads could stand against her.

She is almost at the door.

"Stand up boy. Stop snivelling." I force the guards limbs to co-operate.

"Try to look as if you are doing a professional job. Especially for Esmarelda."

The guard blanches. No one is allowed to call her Esmarelda. I do and she laughs. Anyone else who uses that name finds themselves turned to an ice lolly. Funny thing. She is soul of control and sense. Diplomacy. Except if you call her Esmarelda. No understanding women.

The door opens and her hard men arrive first, check out my chains and nod to her.

She wafts in, looks around without looking at me. She inspects the guard and small smile flickers across her face.

"You are such a softy." she says finally looking at me. "If the guard had been still curled up in a corner I would have walked away and Freddy here would have killed you. From a distance of course."

She looks back at the guard.

"You can go now." and he scrambles for the door.

"You did that deliberately? Exposed that child to me without any protection?"

She nods at one of the hard men.

"His idea. Wanted to kill you without a test. Said you were corrupted. I told him that you would not destroy the guard cos you were special. So we agreed on the test"

"Maybe it would have been better for all of us if you had given his head."

She glances at Freddie. "No. Your group were right. The Brood Mother was still alive. I did not believe you. You came back to protect me despite the dangers you had already faced, despite the danger the world holds for you now. Despite all this you came back to stop her finally. I pay my debts."

Out of her sleeve she pulls a sliver stilletto, slices across her hand and watches the blood puddle in the palm of her hand. The scent of blood drives me mad and I try to break free but I hit the iron and the pain forces me back back down.

"Sit still. Do not move." Her voice like a stilletto itself, the power of her aura and something else push my rage down.

"Tilt your head back, close your eyes and open your mouth." I obey.

Seconds later the blood drips into my open mouth and the hunger fades almost magically. The world shimmers and returns to normal.

"My blood will hold long enough to get you home. Go now. Quickly. Live in peace."

She is right. Her blood stills my craving and I leave the city on foot, travelling the lesser known roads, avoiding people and places.

The Dog has found me and pads along beside me contentedly. Finally we make it to The Arch, a town come toll point. The toll point is closed for the night and The Dog and I have to stay in a hotel. We find a hostelry that will allow The Dog to sleep in the room. The Dog and I eat a simple meal in a corner of the public room and quietly as possible head up to our room. The noise and bustle of the hotel slowly dies away and we settle down to sleep. Sleep comes hard in the noisy towm environment so when the last of the revellers head off home iI sigh in relief and am just settling in when there is a soft knock on the door.

"Come." and I slide my knife out from under my pillow.

The hoteliers daughter and barmaid comes in looking nervous.

"Sorry to disturb you sir. I need a favour."

I raise an eyebrow.

"The canny woman said I should ask you."

I sigh. "We didnt move quietly enough." I say to The Dog. "What do you need from me?"

She blushes, stumbles over her words.

"I have a canker. The canny woman says that your bite will cure it."

"And condemn you to my life? Is she mad?"

"No. She says only one bite will fix the canker but not turn me completely."

"Does she know who I am?"

She nods.

"Sh*t"

"I will give you anything you need."

Lust rises in me and I smile gently.

"Yes, of course you will." I beckone her nearer. Undress her slowly, lasciviously, feasting slowly on her breass, her, navel, her cunny. Never drawwing blood. She sighs. moans, writhes under my touch, till she begs for penetration, insemination, the spray of my essence into her.

**********

As dawn stains the world pink and purple, I tilt her head back stroke her exposed jugular. Her eyes go wide and she gasps, hands clenching at the bed clothes.

"You sure?"

"Yes." she breathes.

My mouth finds her jugular, she jerks once, is still and I drink. We leave her on the bed, glassy eyed, unmoving.

The Dog and I walk out of the hotel, pass through the toll and into obscurity.

Every month she goes to the hills at night and returns the next morning refreshed, renewed and the canker held at bay.

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