ROLAND'S TALE

So Luna coupled with Roland. Papa did not care. What is that to him, save yet another sensation? It's like a human who eats strawberries and then gorges on chocolate. Do the strawberries hate the chocolate? That's how he felt. After all, it's not as if he hasn't eaten a lot of chocolate in his time. He took her by the hand, undressed her and threw her in the 'resting' cabinet. Then he jumped in to join her. Enough said. But Roland was changed by the experience. It brought back memories of a time when he was close with other mortals. He recalled the days of his 'human' life, for the physical sensation of intimacy is very much the same for both the living and the 'dead.' He remembered a place in old Normandy. Some sort of plague had just blown through, transforming half the populace into fly food. His mama and papa were gone. One elder brother was off fighting for the Duc and really not much more than a slave. Another chanted prayers in a monastery far away. Only his sister was left. She tried to run the shop. She tried to sell the cloth. But it was hard. Who could she buy from? Plague eats weavers too, you know. And little by little, they starved. Oh, there was a small vegetable garden out back, but it was not enough. And those even worse off pilfered what little grew there. Maybe they would set off for the monastery? Maybe the brother could do something for them? But sixteenth century highways were dangerous, indeed, not much more than glorified foot paths. And cut throats fell from the trees. Yet what choice did they have? So one day, after attending mass and visiting the communal graves, they set off. Some pilgrims rode on horseback, or reclined in stout carts. But Roland and his older sister, Clothilde, just walked. Their few possessions were lovingly packed into small bundles and carried upon their backs. It was said poor travelers could live on the crab apples growing along the way, plus the occasional roasted squirrel. Well they were as poor as any, so squirrel it would be. He had a knife and she had two rigid hat pins. They had no other weapons. But what brigand would set his sight on prey as low as them?  Such innocent souls they were...So unknowing...Outlaws hunger for many things.

Now there came a night when they stopped to rest under a thick bush. It appeared safe. Who could see them there? They had the remnants of a fat, charred rabbit and a half filled water skin from a nearby brook. So they layed down their burdens, carefully nibbling at the food and sipping the drink. Then they wandered off to pee and slept. All seemed peaceful under the soft, weak light of a clear, half moon. But later, at the hour when their monk brother droned cold, night prayers in a chapel far away, a stranger came upon  them. He was sleek and fit, untouched by the plague, for he moved through the shadowy darkness with the grace of a weasel. It was their night breath gave them away. Not quite a snore, but loud enough. Besides, scent alone was enough for this one. For he carried a magical burden, one he cared to share. Clothilde felt the hand press against her mouth. She opened her eyes, half expecting it to be her brother warning her about some approaching danger. But then she saw the evil smile and felt the kiss of the knife as it tickled her throat. She heard his whisper. He said - Shhhh...no noise, or the boy will die..... So she was quiet and let him drag her off. She said prayers. She visualized the saints. She visualized the Lord in Heaven. She did all she could to push the ordeal away from her. She squeezed her eyes shut tight. She bit her lip. It bled.....Maybe that was a mistake, for her possessor chuckled and said - Bide your time, child. We'll get to that later.....And they did. For he was a vampire. And she became one too. Oh, he could have killed her. He could have let her go up in a cold, blue flame. But he did not do that. He converted her. He changed her into one such as himself. Then he pushed her away saying - The journey should be easier for you now......She cleaned herself up and went back to the place under the bush. But she'd heard folktales. She knew about the dawn and what it could do. So she woke her brother and made them search for a cave, claiming to be cold. He mumbled, but obliged. That morning, as her skin peeled off, she told him the truth. He cried. She told him to go off alone. But he would not desert her. And he stayed, offering little blood drinks from his own body. Three nights later, he became a vampire too. It was just easier that way. It simplified things. And the trip to the monastery was forgotten......They survived as night spirits, quick, silent sprites preying on the occasional plump traveler. And all would have been acceptable, until the townsmen caught them.........