My Familiar Stranger (10 page)

Every day she would walk to the water’s edge with crumbs and tidbits delectable to swans and call the gorgeous bevy to draw near. They would glide effortlessly to the shore, reach upward with their graceful necks to accept her offering, bask in the light of her adoration and, though she could not know it, they returned her devotion in kind.

One day the Countess, taken ill with a fever, slept through the day until well into the night. When she woke, she saw that it was dark and that her husband was already sleeping. Her first thought was that her beautiful, black swans would think she had abandoned them. Being fearful that they might be confused by her absence, she took a candle, and went to the kitchen in night dress, on bare feet. No one heard her steps as she passed through the halls. With no concern for her health, she gathered two partial loaves of bread and went out onto the wet grass, into the bright moonlight. In the ribbon of light that fell upon the lake she could see the shapes of her pets turning and gliding toward her as she whispered encouragements.

There was no warning, no moment to fear or entertain recriminations about choices badly made. Silently, in less than a breath’s time, something emerged from the forest shadows and paralyzed her by sinking fangs into the nape of her neck. It dragged blood from her body in great gulps. Each time the flow began to slow from a puncture wound newly opened, the thing withdrew its fangs and struck again at another font of her body, ripping at flesh with ragged nails for no reason other than the foulest of depraved pleasures.

The Count woke with dread to the sound of strange, unearthly voices piercing the silence of night with a nightmarish song, beautiful and horrible at the same time. What he heard was the cry of swans as they rushed from the water, walking upon the land with wings spread to full span as they gave alarm. They threw themselves at the creature who tore the body of their mistress. Some were spared the monster’s claws while others were struck down, swatted away without effort, but that is neither here nor there as none escaped because, as everyone knows, a swan who sings pays the price with its life.

It was over before a single rescuer reached the door left standing open. There were none who could bear witness to the strange and gruesome event. What the Count and his servants found in the bright moonlight near the water’s edge was the pale and lifeless form of the Countess, torn, ruined, covered with blood. And, scattered all around her were the pitiful, limp remains of black swans who had given their lives for love.

The Count, whose wife had filled his house and heart, was stricken with a soul-crushing grief and fell into a melancholy the depths from which he could not be roused. Some years passed without improvement in his condition. Being honorable and dutiful by nature, he fulfilled the responsibilities of the office of Count, but enjoyed no personal pastime or comfort.

One rainy night, a traveler came to the kitchen door requesting shelter for the night. He was a tall man and old, at least old for the times, with gray hair beginning to show among the brown of his beard. He wore a heavy, hooded cloak over modest clothes and would have been unremarkable in every way except for a glittering spark of intelligence in gray eyes that appeared much younger than the rest of him. He seemed harmless in spite of his size, bearing, and the fact that he had a foreign accent. So the kitchen maid looked to the cook and scullery for their opinion as to whether shelter should be granted. Both shook their heads in a vote of nay.

Turning back to the hapless, wet pilgrim, she opened her mouth intending to turn him away, but, unaccountably, she opened the door and motioned him inside. She looked sheepishly at the cook and scullery, shrugging as she led the stranger to a bench by the fire. She bade him remove his cloak, sit, and warm himself dry and he did so gratefully. When the shivers of his chill subsided, the man introduced himself to the kitchen workers as Dankwart der Recke and asked the maid to humbly request an audience with her master on his behalf.

Thinking that the kindness she had shown by inviting the man in could be cause for her master’s displeasure, she promptly refused. But, after lengthy and charming persuasion with assurances that the master of the house would benefit from such a dialogue, she passed the request on to a manservant whose station merited speaking directly to the Count. Because the Count no longer cared who did or did not spend time in his company, he agreed to have the traveler dine with him and speak if he must.

Count Jungbluth and Meister der Recke ate in silence except for the crackle of a fire and the raindrops hitting lead glass windows set high above their heads. Because the night was too cold to heat one of the larger rooms, they dined in a smaller room near the kitchen, at either end of a rough hewn table; the sort as might be found in an inn. The room was rectangular, as was the fashion, with stone floors and a fireplace six feet high and eight feet wide. It was comfortable and warm, intimate enough to enjoy a tankard and a tale on such a night. Above the fireplace there hung a battered, brown tournament shield bearing a coat of arms with the image of two black goats with long, spiraling horns rearing on hind legs, front hooves striking the air on either side of a noblewoman wearing a trailing green dress and holding a banderol that read
“Hab Mych als Ich Bin”;
take me as I am.

The Count scarcely glanced at his guest from supper’s beginning to end. Nor did he utter a sound. He stared at the food, stared at the table, then stared at the fire. Der Recke, on the other hand, used his considerable power of observation to study his host, taking stock of his mood and character. When the meal was cleared and the servants retired from the hall, the stranger said he had heard the story of the murder of the Countess, his host’s wife, and offered solemn condolences.

He said that he also had lost a wife along with a child, far from there, but in a curiously similar manner. He then began recounting tales he had collected on his travels; tales of monstrous creatures who bear a resemblance to humans, who stalk victims in the night for the purpose of desecrating their bodies and drinking their blood, creatures who are an abomination to the natural world. He said that there were many like themselves who had lost precious souls to the rampages of these demons he called vampire.

As the traveler told his stories, the Count began to listen with an interest possessed, but long forgotten. He perceived the pattern of threads that were common to all, threads that did not unravel upon examination, but formed the beginning of a tapestry.

Slowly the Count became aware of colors, textures, and sounds as if the curtain of haze that had fallen over his soul was clearing. For the first time in a very long while he was aware of the body he occupied; the sensations of breath, hands and feet, rump in chair. He grasped the tankard in front of him, appreciating the smooth feel of the pewter, and lifted it to his lips. As he leaned forward, bringing his full attention to bear so as not to miss the slightest detail, purpose rose from the ashes of his despair. Henceforth, his raison d’etre would be to learn everything that could be known about vampire and kill them. All.

That stormy night as the wind blew a gale outside, they talked and conspired. Several times the fire was stoked and logs were replenished, and an alliance was forged between strangers that transcended station and class. Dankvart der Recke had a fine mind, a Cistercian education in science, history and literature supplemented with sorcery, alchemy, and an uncanny ability to judge people truly. As a member of the First Reich College of Princes and Counts, Jungbluth had a treasure second only to that of the king.

The two formed a fraternal alliance bound by mutual heartbreak and called to the highest ambition possible; to protect the helpless and vulnerable from devils that lurk in the night. In honor of the Countess and her martyred birds, they named the organization The Order of the Black Swan. The emblem was placed upon a red background in tribute of the blood shed by innocents. That emblem formed both crest and talisman, an equal-armed cross with a swan superimposed at the center. The cross stood for the intersection of the four winds, a symbol that there is nowhere on Earth where predatory monsters may be safe from the wrath and righteous justice of the knights of The Order of the Black Swan. The swan is a memorial to love and courage; fearlessness in the face of helplessness, an elegant expression of death before dishonor.

So the two founders set about accomplishing their mission by trolling the families of the European aristocracy which often faced the problem of two male heirs living to adulthood. As the custom was to keep family estates undivided and pass to a single male child, the quandary facing such families was what to do with second sons. The redundancy of healthy, adult second sons was both blessing and curse.

Placement in the clergy was politically expedient in terms of power and wealth. Such a position was a good match if the boy demonstrated the unusual traits of being a next-in-line who was both compliant and ambitious. Others, true to the rebellious nature typical of their place in the family hierarchy, sought out the Knights Templar and other enterprises where high born progeny found career, adventure, and sometimes discipline as gentlemen soldiers or highly paid mercenaries.

The most exceptional of these were recruited by the Order of the Black Swan. There they found a purpose that far transcended an inheritance of wealth, power, or public recognition and, in the end, counted themselves the more fortunate between their older brothers and themselves.”

Elora had listened with rapt attention to this tale of triumph over tragedy and every part of it resonated deep within her. “And there are no women knights?”

“No.”

“There has never been a woman knight?”

“There has never been a woman knighted by The Order of The Black Swan. There have been a couple in the sense that we bestow the title: Jeanne Hatchet, 1472, and Marie-Angélique Duchemin in 1798. Either the French are forward thinking or Jeanne d’Arc paved the way.”

“And you just happened to have those facts on the tip of your tongue? Including dates?”

He shrugged. “Photographic memory.” He handed her a little, soft cover book with a yellowish tan cover marbled like parchment. The title was in bold, black print.
The Order of the Black Swan Field Training Manual.
“This is available on electronic tablet of course, but I like to do some things the old fashioned way.”

She opened to the first page and read the first item.
The plural of vampire is vampire.
“Why have you given me this?”

“Because you have passed my test and are granted freedom of the building and grounds on a probationary basis. Since you are now able to wander the facility at will, I think it’s important that you understand the nature of the work we are doing.” Elora practically leaped from her chair, but he held up a hand in a gesture to ‘wait’. “There is a condition.” She narrowed her eyes. “I would like to monitor your psychological adjustment to your new situation with one hour sessions two times a week.”

She looked at him suspiciously. “Psychotherapy?”

“Yes,” he said flatly and without apology.

She looked wary. “Are you bound by confidentiality?”

“Yes.”

“Agreed.”

“Very well. You will be moved to one of the apartments this very day if you are ready to leave your nest at the infirmary. I know they will be sorry to see you go.”

“Quite humorous,” she said as she was moving toward the door. Suddenly she stopped in her tracks, the elated mood gone as quickly as it had arrived. She turned toward Monq. “Those boys I saw, in the infirmary, the ones who were covered with blood. They’re vampire hunters?”

Monq rested a solemn gaze on her and nodded. “It’s dangerous work.”

“And Storm is one of them?”

“No. He’s not one of them. He and his team are the best there is.”

***

BLACK SWAN FIELD TRAINING MANUAL Section I: Chapter 10, #27

Vampire are usually attractive because they were young, healthy adults at the time the disease was contracted. They were essentially frozen in their current physical state for the remainder of their lives. When selectivity is not an option, a depleted vampire will attack a person of any age, sex, or condition. If the body of that person survives, it will not continue to age or develop, but will maintain in stasis so long as it is fed sufficient amounts of blood.

Not much packing was required to get Elora ready to move. Almost all her clothes were already hanging on the rolling rack. Storm was able to carry the four crates all at once which meant the two of them were able to make the move in one trip. Elora said goodbye to the staff on duty, accepted hugs and graciously thanked them for their care and patience.

Down one long hallway, turn right, and up the elevator three floors. She made a conscientious effort to remember the way. The apartment had last belonged to a knight who was no longer in service at this unit. There was a faded rectangle on the door where the name plate used to be. She didn’t ask too many questions because she didn’t want to take the chance that answers might take some of the exhilaration out of the moment. Storm had made a point of saying these quarters were just temporary until they sorted out the best solution. She didn’t care if she had to pitch a tent every night. She was just glad to be out of the infirmary holding pen.