My Familiar Stranger

by Victoria Danann

  Three sentences were highlighted: I’ve been a so-called coward and a so-called hero and there’s not the thickness of a sheet of paper between them. Maybe cowards and heroes are just ordinary men who, for a split second, do something out of the ordinary. That’s all.

  ***

  CHAPTER 5

  BLACK SWAN FIELD TRAINING MANUAL Chapter 7, #7

  The vampire virus does not impart extra human abilities such as shape shifting, teletransportation, transmutation, telekinesis, or dematerializing. Their bodies are subject to the rules of physics including gravity. They are not adversely affected by plants such as garlic. Their bodies will be seen in any surface that reflects images including mirrors. They do not require a ritualized special invitation to enter any premises to which they wish to gain access. The aforementioned traits are primitive folklore.

  However, when excited, vampire are able to concentrate their physical abilities into bursts of power that result in extraordinary strength; not unlike that expressed under circumstances of stress by the mentally ill. In what appears to be an evolutionary survival trait, the cuspids commonly known as canine teeth, or fangs, do elongate and sharpen over time, but are retracted into the gums when not feeding. Vampire do acquire the uncanny ability to hypnotize humans as a dubious benefit of the infection. We cannot offer a satisfactory explanation for this phenomenon as of this writing. We do, however, suggest that field operatives be conditioned against vulnerability to this form of influence.

  Hearing deliberations didn’t last long after Elora left the Chamber. Addressing the quorum members, Monq confirmed critical parts of the story with evidence he had collected. He indicated that his otherworldly counterpart, whose handwriting, by the way, was an indistinguishable match with his own, had programmed the transportation device to search for his DNA signature. It was because Monq was located in the Chamber room of Black Swan and for that reason alone that Elora Laiken was delivered there.

  Monq related his suspicions that her cell density probably translates to strength that would be super human, meaning strength greater than the strongest person, male or female. He went on to say that he suspected that, if she wanted out of her confinement, it would be hard to stop her.

  “To use a pop culture expression, she is very likely ‘hard to kill’. Regarding informing her as to who we are and what we do, I suggest we use the same method we apply when interviewing potential personnel. I will supervise the process, myself. If the results are satisfactory, there is no reason not to allow her freedom of movement within the compound.

  However, she has sustained multiple traumas layering one on top of the other. She has witnessed the massacre of her family and all those close to her. She has undergone such massive injury to her body as defies description. And she now finds herself in a world that is slightly off center, similar, but not the same. There are some conventional points of reference for her, but, in some ways, that almost makes the differences more pronounced and confusing. Worse, she sees herself as alone. I will want to monitor her psychological rehabilitation.”

  Since no one voiced a dissenting view, he continued. “It cannot have escaped the notice of anyone present that there are larger implications. The method by which Ms. Laiken unintentionally pioneered inter-dimensional travel could not have been more crude or punishing, but that is not to say that other, more advanced societies may not have refined the means by which to slip through dimensional barriers heretofore thought impenetrable. Certainly we may review thousands of unsolved cases in the annals of The Order through the prism of this new information.”

  The ruling of the assembly was unanimous. If Elora Laiken passed the typical employee interview process, she would be given alternate quarters and freedom of the building and the courtpark. Eventually, when her emotional rehabilitation was complete, she might even choose to work for the Order in some capacity.

  The next morning Elora was asked to participate in a series of tests. She was not told that her freedom depended on the outcome, but she was happy to be out of the infirmary regardless of the reason.

  The Order’s interview process had been developed and refined over time to a masterpiece of predictability. It consists of a layering of psychological reactions probing the subject for predisposition to three behavioral factors: tolerance to evidence of unusual phenomena foreign to conventional or previously held beliefs, loyalty, and ability to keep confidential matters secret – long term. That portion of the interview is a three hour process that starts slow and builds in intensity as the morning progresses. If any challenge renders a questionable result, the subject is dismissed without ever knowing why or what they were being tested for.

  Elora Laiken made it to the lunch break having matched the best score ever received by any of the Order’s agent operatives including knights. After lunch, she was shown to a room with low, recessed lighting and asked to sit in an overstuffed reclining chair. After a brief wait, Monq entered and closed the door.

  “Ms. Laiken, the next step in this series of testing procedures is a short session of hypnosis. Is that something you’re familiar with?”

  “Yes. In the sense that I know what it is, but not in the sense that I have been hypnotized.”

  Monq nodded. “I see. The purpose of hypnotizing you is to determine how susceptible you are to suggestion. Do you have any objection to this?”

  Elora thought about it a moment. “Well, I haven’t had a chance to apologize for accosting you, but I am sorry. I hope you understand.”

  Monq studied her for a minute and then giggled which could not seem more out of place on a person. Elora wondered if the oddity of that was part of the test. “No, my dear Ms. Laiken, I have no grudge or ill will toward you whatsoever. In fact, I feel our entire world owes you a debt of gratitude because you have provided us with proof of a scientific theory that has been the subject of skeptic’s ridicule for a very long time. This is the most important advance in understanding the structure of the universe since we learned to build fire. Whether intended or not, this was accomplished at great personal cost to you. And I haven’t had a chance to thank you.”

  “You’re welcome?”

  He smiled. “May I proceed?”

  “Sure.” She shrugged.

  Monq indicated that she should lie back in the recliner and find a comfortable position. An hour later, he had not successfully put her under. He called in one assistant after another, each one trained in hypnosis and hypnotherapy, to have a try. Eventually they were forced to conclude that Elora was one of those relatively rare individuals with a natural immunity to the process. She simply could not be hypnotized.

  Moving on to the final portion of the process, he explained that they were part of a very old organization whose purpose was to investigate paranormal phenomena and, when necessary, protect the human population from negative supernatural events. For purposes of clarification, positive supernatural events were those deemed to be harmless such as sightings of guardian angels. Or Elvis.

  “What qualifies as a negative supernatural event?” she asked.

  “Vampire. For example. Which happens to be one of the specialties of this particular unit.”

  “You’re not kidding.”

  Having heard that response a few times, Monq wasn’t either surprised or put off. The best news was that she wasn’t laughing. If she had laughed, he would have gone along and said something to the effect of, “Got ‘ya. We like to hire people with a sense of humor.” Then, with a pat on the back and a, “Thanks for coming in. We’ll let you know in a couple of days,” that would be the end of that applicant’s future with The Order.

  “Unfortunately no. I’m quite serious about this as has been every person who has worked for The Order for almost six hundred years. Since 1458 to be exact.”

  Intrigued Elora asked, “And what happened in 1458?”

  “You want the synopsis or the whole story?”

  “Guess.”

  “Whole story.” He waited for her nod and the
n smiled seeming pleased with her answer. “Every time.”

  Monq suggested they move into his study which was a room covered with inset paneling and beautifully designed moldings. Two walls were shelves that held all manner of curious goods. He gestured toward one of two red leather chairs set at a conversational angle in front of an oversized fireplace. It was not yet cool enough for a fire, but there was a large monitor sitting in front of the hearth displaying a video of a roaring fire. She decided that this version of Monq was proving to be just as eccentric as her own Monq. The room was a treasure trove of contradictions. He poured pink sherry into two stems of very old, museum quality, crystal and sat down to retell a story he had repeated countless times and knew by heart.

  “In the year 1458 there was a Count who lived happily with his wife in the mountainous region where Germany borders Austria. Their goldenrod-colored house was as picturesque as a fairy tale, more stately than a manor, but smaller and less grand than a castle. It stood on the shore of an idyllic lake. The surface, which was usually still as glass, reflected the forest that lined its banks and changed color with the mood of the sky above.

  The Countess, who was known to be both kind and generous, had not been blessed with children even though it was her fondest wish. So the affection that might have found expression in watching little ones grow was instead bestowed on other living things: her gardens and a small herd of black swans that decorated the lake named for them. Even though all the swans in the land were, by law, owned by the king, she secretly, in her heart, counted these her own pride and joy. She would never pass a window without looking toward the lake.

  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 sou
nds 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.