The Gift

by Gerard A Whitfield

  Truth be told, Jenni was curious, this was the first time she had been exposed to adult excess and seeing them dancing, gorging themselves and falling drunkenly to the floor, was a novel experience. She flinched as she felt the Cardinal’s chubby fingers caress her hair and winced as she saw one of the acolytes tumble, his cassock flapping open and showing his scar-covered body. Another vomited openly on the floor, making room for more food and wine and his companions roared in approval.

  The young girl realised finally that this was much more than an innocent misunderstanding, and she twisted her head round as far as she could, searching for the security of her mother’s gaze.

  An explosion of movement dragged her eyes back to the front, as the horrible Cardinal wobbled off the stage, his clothing stained and splattered with food and the rich red colouring of wine. He turned and leered at Jenni, his open mouth still masticating the remains of whatever he had grabbed from a passing wench’s tray. She saw him start to dance, knocking others aside and taking a possessive hold of the serving girl, dragging her to him and ignoring the terrified pleading in her eyes.

  *

  As clear as crystal she heard her father’s voice and his strangely sepulchral intonation, followed by the wild celebrations within the Cathedral. Outside she knew too, that the people were rejoicing, but they, unlike her, could not witness the third occurrence. The acolyte who had been counting down was the only one, mouth wide open, who did not speak. His hands gripped tightly to the arms of his chair, knuckles white with terrified pressure. Jenni had realised, unlike the semi-comatose masses, that there had been a relatively lengthy pause between the calling of zero and her father’s simple, “It is done…”. This new silence was lost amidst the frenzied music and drunken shouting, or so she thought.

  Scanning the crowd, she saw one other frozen into stillness, his mouth open and ignoring the ministrations of his acolytes and sycophants. Urtz stood silently, staring at her, his fixation now obvious. Fear did not enter her mind, her innocence had and would protect her from what was to come. Instead she showed a shrewd interest, watching intently as confusion and then doubt entered the Cardinal’s visage. With a twitch of her head she indicated the terrified man and this time her innocence changed to maliciousness.

  *

  A simple change of temperature was the fourth and final insignificance, a cold draft which played against her cheek. It was somewhat more striking than the others, its freshness cutting through the suffocatingly oppressive nature of the cathedral’s atmosphere. So many bodies packed closely generated heat, their manic jigging adding more and the stench of sweat and half-eaten food contributing to the heady mix.

  Jenni turned her head searching for the source of the freshness, questing more with her skin, her eyelids closed. The hairs on the back of her neck began to rise and she felt the cold pierce her anew, this time as though two burning nails were driven into her forehead. Snapping open her eyes, she saw the woman, long black hair cascading down her back. A funereal shift clung to her body, its paleness accentuating the alabaster nature of her skin.

  Smiling, the woman glided into the main body of the room, her feet apparently not touching the floor. She only had eyes for Jenni, ignoring the continued revelry around her. The crowd parted as she moved, an invisible wave forging out ahead of her and Jenni smiled back, as the woman reached her. A comforting arm fell across her shoulder and she felt safe, as though her father once more stood by her side.

  *

  Urtz had not noticed the woman enter, he had decided to use the delay between the count down and the notification of success as an excuse to remove the troubling Kudwicki from his life. It was as he started forward he saw the strange apparition and his blood chilled. Her eyes were cold, black, depthless orbs and the Cardinal saw a promise of endless pain held within, especially for him.

  As he opened his mouth, so too did she, and the last thing that crossed the Cardinal’s mind, just before he received his just and divine deserts, was the savage vision of the sharpened fangs, which loomed large and deadly before him.

  Foe Mine

  Cardinal’s Palace

  Heavenly City

  Spindle

  It was cold, damnably so; a chill which seeped into bones long undead, causing even them to throb and ache with a strange arthritic humour. She lay full length on the marble slab, her eyes sightlessly staring into the never ending darkness. Today was the day, of that she was sure, she could feel it. Another moment of desperate hope, dashed by the childish games of the clergy. Once more, she would eagerly stand close to the wards, feeling them weaken as the hour drew closer. Then would come the disappointment, the despair of denial and another long year laid atop her tomb.

  The wards kept her alive, if this could be called living of any sort. Her hunger remained unabated, titillated by the appearance of humans beyond the door, and their unknowing ignorance of her presence. Within her mind, she had killed them countless times, had satiated her thirst and enjoyed their painful and pitiful deaths. This was what always drove her close to madness, the anticipation never to be fulfilled, and no matter how she tried, how many barriers she created for her thought processes, one view of her food and she again began to drool.

  *

  Something was different about today, the same ritualistic unbarring of the door had occurred, the same annoying prayers and incense waving, but then nothing. For a very long time there had not been the bustle of ineffectual priests, the drinking or ribald comments. No, today, the atmosphere stank of fear and her levels of expectation began to rise, as the barrier’s strength began to fall.

  Her enhanced hearing heard the rasping breath and slapping feet from far away. She rejoiced when she sensed him stumble, the crashing sound of his fall music to her ears. There was disappointment when he rose again and staggered on his way.

  With her fingers she pushed at the wards on the door and felt them give, just as Stefan entered the long, vaulted chamber. It was not possible for her physically to leave her prison yet, but mentally she could help the process along a little. Reaching out with her thoughts, she touched the human’s chaotic mind, probing and boring past his fixation on time and the safety of his family. He knew not who she was, but racially understood the threat she presented.

  On she dug, until her insinuated message began to work, Stefan believing that the candles flickered and died, her laugh rolling around her prison as he dropped to his knees and began blindly to crawl forward. This was delicious, if nothing else, she was enjoying this year more than most and deep down she felt that she would succeed, she would be free.

  Like a blind mole he groped his way forward, the top of his head striking the door frame and stunning him temporarily. Still in control, she let him believe he still had time, his feet scrabbling for purchase and she held him there, the retaining wall of power weakening. Until at last it was no more and she floated free, past the oblivious Stefan, finally allowing him his triumph.

  As he passed on his message, slumped to the floor in relief and counted his blessings, she struck. Her hunger could be ignored no longer, and so she fed. There was no tantalising wait, no cat-like playing with her food, she simply drank him dry.

  *

  Dancing and twirling she retraced Stefan’s steps, there was no real hurry, now she was fed and liberated. Memories of her fate swirled around in her mind, accompanied by the delicious revenge she would mete out on her perpetrators. Logic dictated that the real instigators of her imprisonment were no more, but she would make do with their descendents or at least their representatives.

  A constantly changing stream of music cascaded through her thoughts, its tempo increasing with each movement. Her excitement was rising in conjunction with the melody’s crescendo and she looked forward to being amongst others again.

  Apart from her need for alimentation, she also craved conversation and knew that once sated, there would be time also for that. At the final exit from the tunnel she stopped, seeing the huge axe-bearin
g individual there, his black slitted hood, looking comical in the wan light filtering through from the main hall. With one swift leap she was upon him, her arm encircling his neck, the other locking it in place. A heave dragged him up, to hang over her back as she choked the life from him. One shudder, a resounding crack and then he was no more. Dropping him to the floor, she walked forward, excited at once more entering the world of humans.

  *

  The door opened with a creak, displaying the packed mass of gyrating and bouncing bodies. Her eyes caught and held the gaze of the young girl, tied to a chair on the main dais. She knew her, but from where? Ah, yes, the lingering memories of her latest meal. A shock ran through her as the girl smiled, almost in invitation and her loneliness tugged at her repressed emotions.

  Calmly she moved through the throng, like a magnet, the flame of the girl’s will drew her forward. Entranced, she reached the young one’s side and draped her arm protectively around the bound figure’s shoulders.

  Her senses warned her of the intense study to which she was being subjected and then she saw him. The centuries may have passed, but there residing within the overweight and corrupt shell that was Urtz sat her enemy. It did not matter the man, nor the character, the essence of her foe was carried by all who bore that mark, who wore that cloth.

  She made no attempt to hold back her anger, her porcelain features cracking into the frightful visage of the beast that she was. Protruding fangs and hooked claws called for blood and with a hiss, she answered.

  *

  Jenni watched the creature kill, screaming people were dispatched with a cold and heartless efficiency. The woman strode towards Urtz, tearing off limbs and slashing her way through those unfortunate enough to be in her way. With each mutilation, each death, the little girl died, being replaced by a mute acceptance. Her father was dead, her mother would soon be too and then would come the world. For herself, she was not worried, there had been recognition of an unspoken bond between herself and the creature, of that she was sure.

  As her innocence left her, it was replaced by the beginnings of a hunger. The woman looked back at her and smiled, recognising the moment when Jenni crossed over into her world. She stabbed her clawed fingers into Urtz’s chest and dragged him back towards the dais. How fitting, that he who would have destroyed, was now about to be destroyed.

  *

  Urtz cried out, pleading with Jenni to intercede, to help him. One swipe of the woman’s claws freed the girl, who turned and looked adoringly up at her. The woman drew a sharpened nail across the flesh of her own chest, black blood slowly welling forth. She guided Jenni’s mouth to the wound who began to drink. The Cardinal mewled in terror as the young girl turned at last, her eyes no longer ice-blue but now a dark navy colour.

  He saw her bend, pick up a knife from the nearby food-covered table and stroll towards him. That innocent smile that had so captivated him was no more, instead he saw there a malicious anticipation. He screamed as the knife dug in, howled as Jenni’s teeth tore into his flesh and died, over and over again.

  And all for the sake of four minutes…

  Superbia

  'What kind of nonsense is this? Surely you must be ashamed, poor men, to challenge someone so famous as me with troops so tattered.

  -Aurelius Prudentius Clemens

  “Who do they think they are? What divine right do they believe they have which convinces them that they can raise their arms against me?” roared Lucifer, as he stared across the battle field.

  His Angels stood around him, haughty disdain plainly visible as they inspected the forces arrayed against them. Their disbelief bolstered by their skill and achievements, the wealth and power they wielded in order to hold dominion over this land.

  And who were these worthless upstarts, how did they dare to challenge those within whose blood flowed the seed of immortality? Those who had given them freedom through their own struggle against vile forces. Now they came, these usurpers, carrying steel forged in unholy lands, weapons powered by heretical rituals and breathing a new and false religion across this earth.

  No matter, they were as nothing, and would never be able to stand against the forces of the righteous.

  *

  Lucifer checked the state of his polished armour, he could almost see his face in the brilliant reflection from the coated metal. The huge stylised angel emblazoned in all its glory across his chest was something he had earned, and made sure that all were aware of. He had been the most faithful of the Great One’s servants, along with his men of course, but he was the leader. His men were but pale reflections, but they too, in their own way, carried the honour of their forces with them.

  A sneer crossed Lucfier’s face as he glanced at the regiments of Church Guardsmen, waiting for their moment of fame, perhaps even sacrifice. Not something that Lucifer concerned himself with, the lifes of those lesser humans who lived and died in the Great One’s name.

  Messengers arrived from General Command, but Lucifer waved them away, one of his subordinates taking the data sheet and dismissing the General’s Aide. What advice did Lucifer need from some juvenile General? He had lived centuries fighting against the Tauran hordes and knew exactly what to do.

  The absolute truth of the matter, in Lucifer’s own eyes, was that he really did not need the rest of these imitation soldiers. He and his men would, as they had always done, carry the day. Gently, he brushed back his short blond hair, the bristled look being one he cultivated, and taking his helmet from one of his servants, donned it arrogantly.

  *

  Geriond tried once more to speak with Captain Lucifer, the General had been rather specific in his orders. He, Geriond, was not to leave until he had some form of formal acknowledgement from the overbearing Immortal Captain. It seemed as though the General was insisting upon this point, and Leftenant Geriond Devane, would complete his duty.

  Tall for his age, Geriond nevertheless was dwarfed by the gigantic frames of the Immortals, and somewhat overawed by their exploits. Time and again they had broken the Tauran forces, on world after world and all in the Great One’s name. Although, the Leftenant had to admit that the manner in which they behaved did leave a lot to desire. Their self-glorification smacked more of the agrandisment of their own names, rather than His.

  All that he could do was to try, and summoning what little courage he had left, he approached the Captain once more.

  *

  The Angels’ Captain watched the annoying Aide approach again and his famous temper got the better of him. Without waiting for any comment, he strode forward, grasping the front of Geriond’s tunic and lifting him bodily from the floor. He shook him like a dog does a rat, snarling incoherently with his all-consuming rage.

  “Who…do…you…think…you…are?” he spat, affronted at the temerity of the young Leftenant. With a heave, he bounced him off a nearby rock and sent Geriond crashing to the floor. The Leftenant rose again, opening his mouth to speak and one of Lucifer’s men back-handed him, smashing his teeth in a bright spray of blood and sending the Leftenant into a less than graceful unconsciousness.

  Lucifer beckoned forward the Immortal holding the Aide’s data sheet, “Give me that!” he snapped, holding it between thumb and forefinger, before dropping it disdainfully to the floor. His armoured foot rose and slammed down on the inoffensive item, once, twice and then it was no more.

  With a roar of laughter, Lucifer led his men away; they would prepare their rituals for the annointing and blessing of their armour and weapons by their tame priest. They had very quickly forgotten about the half-conscious Leftenant, who even now was trying to drag himself up, his all-important message driving him on.

  *

  A pair of Church Guardsmen helped Geriond to his feet and agreed, after his pleading, to half-carry him to the front of the Angels lines. Now he stood, leaning heavily against one of them, and did his best to straighten his dirtied and bloodied uniform. As Lucifer exited his command tent and began to march purp
osefully forward, his gaggle of excited men following, Geriond pushed himself away from his crutch and spoke.

  “Sir!” he shouted in his best voice, the sound not really doing much more than make the Immortals laugh, the words slurred by his swollen jaw.

  “Now what?” asked Lucifer, restraining one of his men and condescendingly allowing Geriond to speak.

  “I brought you a data sheet from the General, Sir,” continued the Leftenant pleadingly, “and he asked me to make sure that you had read and understood its contents, Sir!”

  “What General is this that has arrived from some God-foresaken mudball and presumes to tell us what to do?” Lucifer half-turned, basking in his men’s adulation.

  “But, Sir!” gasped Geriond, only barely keeping upright, as he waved away the Guardsmen’s proferred help.

  “Enough!” spat Lucifer, continuing forward and knocking the Leftenant to the floor, “We do not need advice, we have a proud tradition and have never lost. Today will not be the day that changes, belive me!”

  “The General insisted ...” Geriond’s words were cut short by Lucifer’s boot connecting with his stomach, his retching causing the Angels to smirk at his weakness. None of them would have succumbed so easily, they were divinely blessed with enhanced constitutions.

  A clawing hand was all that the Leftenant could manage, his gasping for air not allowing him the possibility of speech. Vainly he wheezed his pleas, but they were ignored as Lucifer signalled his men to mount up. Their APC’s roared into life, and one by one, the huge men leaped into their pre-ordained places, grinning at the devastation they were about to wreak.

  *

  There was nothing more he could do and the Leftenant cursed them, as they powered away. Fumes belching behind their rides, pennants fluttering madly, and pistol rounds exploding as they fired haphazardly into the air. They did not need to hide, did not the world, the whole galaxy, not know who they were? Enemies trembled at the mere sound of their name, many giving up even before the fight had started.