Palvine Past 21

by Mitzi Danielson-Kaslik

bull's blood wine 

In a moment devoid of thought, emotion, passion or anything else but humanity, I made the involuntary decision to step out between Sylvester Spence Palvine and Marius Chevalier just as a mighty flash of a rapier knocked Sylvester to a half kneeling half, half lying position in the snow. I pushed Marius aside with a harsh gesture of my left arm and he lowered his sword, panting for air. I fell beside where Sylvester lay, hot tears clouding my vision. The thought, emotion and passion had returned. With the benefit of hindsight, the humanity at that moment had forgotten. 

It cost a man his life. 

Sylvester’s breath was calmer now, and it didn’t take long for me to apply pressure to the red rose that bloomed on the left side of the chest of his white shirt. The same shirt I had worn earlier. The bleeding was quick to stop and when I peeled back the bloody cotton, I found the wound was shallow and unlikely to scar. At the same moment, both I and Sylvester looked to the sky. Dawn was breaking. The crisp snow fell in delicate flakes down to the earth like the broken wings of fallen angels. The snowflakes were free. Free like butterflies. Free like Sylvester. Free like me. Marius returned his gaze to me and Sylvester and a strange unseen forgiveness filled his eyes. In a moment of humanity, the kind I had never seen before, Marius reached his hand down to Sylvester to help his to his feet. Sylvester took it. The two men looked at each other as dawn broke out over the horizon and Paris was alight once more. In a moment I have much pondered over, Sylvester performed a quick deft movement, piercing Marius’s chest on the left side. Marius fell to the floor. I looked down, in shock. The wound was too deep. I couldn’t have saved him if I’d tried.

Marius Chevalier was dead.

Story by Number

by Allison Symes

bull's blood wine

 

Seven
She knew she’d never survive the hunt.

Twenty-Four
She was right but her cubs would survive. When they were grown, they would be the hunters. Heaven help those who killed her tonight.

Fifty-Two
Fifty-two hunters destroyed the she-wolf. She was proud it took so many. She rued she wouldn’t see her cubs destroy them. Her species were specific about numbers to take. They were never wrong on that or on what brutality to use on prey. All got what they deserved. No more, no less.

Three Hundred and Sixty Six
Her cubs took all fifty-two hunters in 366 days. One hunter killed every seven days. It was only two days of extreme snow conditions that led to the cubs not completing their mission in 364. What the cubs liked, as their mother had, was generating fear in the area around a kill. When would the creatures strike next? Who would be their next victim? That was for the cubs to know and the human rats to fear. There was never any doubt there would be next victims. Any hunter would be considered fair game. It evened things up, did it not?

Each hunter was carefully tracked. Some of the cubs let the hunters know they were on the wrong side of the hunting equation now. Those cubs liked to induce fear before the kill. They let the hunters see them. They let the hunters see them again and again. Naturally the cubs ensured nobody else saw them. They wanted their kills to be in no doubt they would be the kills. The cubs saw it as poetic justice. The others just got on with the kill and saw no point in toying with their prey.

The cubs marked each hunter with claw marks on the back of their riding hats. It was all that was left behind. The cubs left their horses alone, pitying any animal that had to work for mankind to survive as they considered that no life at all. In any event, the horses fled in terror, throwing their riders, when the cubs turned up. It was funny how nobody had to explain to any animal the cubs were not your normal canine species. Never could be. Never would be. And they had fangs which would give your average vampire pause for thought.

The ironic thing was that had the human rats not been so selfish and allowed the creatures the odd chicken, goat, sheep etc., the cubs (and their mother) would have left the humans alone. But these canines would never ever allow anyone to get away with hunting them. It wasn’t done on the world they came from. It wouldn’t be done here either. The sooner humans realised this the better.

About the author

Allison Symes is published by Chapeltown Books, Cafélit, and Bridge House Publishing amongst others.  She is a member of the Society of Authors and Association of Christian Writers.  She adores reading and writing quirky fiction. Her website is https:\\allisonsymescollectedworks.com and she blogs weekly for online magazine, Chandler’s Ford Today, often on writing related topics - http://chandlersfordtoday.co.uk/author/allison-symes/
This story is based on a prompt designed by Dawn Knox. See more in our book of prompts: 
 

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