La Chasseresse da la Nuit: the Beginning

La Chasseresse de la Nuit

The Beginning

Prelude

"Aurore!" cries a fair woman, chocolate brown curls falling out of her bun, sliding over the icy bleu eyes and lily white cheeks, while her young daughter is stolen away on a Breton mare.

Many leagues away and, many years later, Aurore Rousseau wakes up, breathless, and in fear.

Aurore looks out to see the early morning sky, and slips quietly out of the small bed, wrapping the warm woolen blanket around her shoulders for warmth in the cold church. She flicks her long chocolate brown locks out of her face, as she slides the mahogany drawer of her dresser open. She pulled on her black trousers, and tied up her corset, then proceeded to make good her morning prayers.

“Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name, thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it tis in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread; forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us. Lead us not into temptation, deliver us from Evil, for thine is the kingdom, the power, and the glory forever and ever. Amen.” Her French accent like music to the air continues in her own personal address to God.

“Dear Lord, Please help me this day to do what I must. To fight those evils which the devil sets loose upon your glorious earth. Give me strength to fight and to honor my birthright. And, please, oh Lord, I implore you; forgive me for what I must do this day. I speak this as your humble servant, Amen.”

Aurore makes the sign of the cross, and stands. She leaves the cold stone room, venturing out into the torch lit corridor. Her steps reverberate off of the walls as she strides off down the corridor. She enters a library, smelling of dust, ink, and must. A line of dust is wiped from the shelf as she finds the shelf she wants, pulling forward “Obfirmo Quod Key”. The book shelf creaks forward, and gives Aurore just enough space to enter. She skips down the steps to the secret chamber, full of monks, and numerous other holy men. She stops on the landing, when it opens to the room, and leans on the oak banister, her eyes cloudy with memory.

She had come here as a child. Before she had been taken by the Cursed Knight. Her hand clung to her mothers, which had always been cold to the touch, although, the woman had been full of warmth. Her mother had come from a poor family, peasants. But she had become noble, and dignified, but still had cared for those around her, be they rich or poor, healthy or sick. Her mother, however, had kept a secret. A secret from the whole family.

The Beginning

“Aurore. Aurore, darling? Come out of your hiding places, your secret hide-aways. We must be going, lest we shall be late to meet your father.” A woman, trimmed to perfection, her brunette hair in a bun, called to her daughter, Aurore Rousseau. Her dress, with no wrinkle or spot upon it, was made of a soft emerald cloth, with no frills or other such expensive nonsense. This woman, born poor, and married into wealth, had no time for the twaddle that many other rich folk thought they needed. Instead of having her seamstress buy lace or frills, she had her give the money to those from her village. The poor now had food, and shared the money amongst them.

“I’m here amour maternel!” Giggled a little girl, also in green, looking a miniature of her mother. She stepped out from behind a suit of armor, smiling, with a spot of dirt on her chin. Her mother glided gracefully over to her, scolding her for the dirt on her face.

“Aurore Rousseau! You’ve got dirt on your little chin. Come here.” The woman grabbed her daughter and licked her thumb, and scrubbed the spot on little eight year old Aurore, leaving a bright red spot, while the little girl squirmed, trying to escape. Aurore had always been a wild child. She hated wearing the dresses that everyone expected a proper young girl to wear. Instead, she chose to steal the trousers and soft cotton shirts from her cousins. Little did she know, her mother had been the same way, only she had been allowed to wear boys’ clothing.

The little girl took her mothers hand, as they walked through the warm halls to the courtyard, where the regal black carriage awaited these two fine ladies. Aurore endured the bumpy ride while her mother concerned herself with fixing the child’s frazzled hair. Her mother hummed a tune, making Aurore drowsy.

Aurore’s mother shook her awake as the carriage stopped, and smoothed her hair, and dress. “Come, now, Aurore, your father is meeting us here for an afternoon picnic. Isn’t that nice?” The woman took the drivers steady hand, helping her out of the carriage. The same driver lifted Aurore out, and touched her nose with his finger saying, “meep.” This made the girl giggle in delight.

“Daddy!” She cried in pure joy, running towards the proud looking man.

He scooped her up in his arms, and started to tickle her, “Oh, my little Aurore. And my lovely wife.” He beamed, setting Aurore down, and taking his wife into his arms. “I’ve been away much too long.”

They sat together, on a red cloth, eating cold chicken, and sipping Pink Lemonade. Afterwards, while they reclined in the sunshine, Aurore piped up, yawning. “Daddy, you aren’t going to go away again, are you?” Her eyes glistened with hope.

“No, little one, I don’t plan to go away anytime soon, but I am a busy man, and I have an important job to do in running our lands. I must go away at some time or another, but not until after the winter. Don’t you worry your pretty little head, Aurore.” The man ruffled her hair, as thunder approached in the form of horses.

He jumped up, and grabbed Aurore, as well as his wife’s hand, and dragged them quickly to the carriage. “Quick! Inside! Hurry!” He tapped on the drivers shoulder, just as a black horse appeared over the top of the hill, and sent an arrow through the driver’s chest, knocking him from his seat.

“Rousseau! Rousseau! Come out, come out, wherever you are! You can’t hide, you know. There are only a few places you can be. Don’t make me hurt that pretty little daughter of yours, and most certainly, not your wife. All I want is to talk.” He slid off of his horse, and stalked around the carriage, before throwing the door wide open. A tall, vile looking man stood before them, grizzly beard dripping with sweat, and the dirt of the road stuck to his face.

“What do you want, evil scoundrel? I don’t parley with wrongdoers of any kind, especially the murderous kind!” Aurore’s father growled, thrusting his wife and daughter behind him.

The man threw his face to the sky, laughing like a beast. “Don’t parley with murderers? Silly man, I am not just a murderer. I am the Cursed Knight, the one who wanders from place to place, killing as a mercenary, unless seeing fit to kill for ones own pleasure or gain. This is for my gain. I have been watching you, oh yes I have. Now, why don’t you climb out of that carriage, but first, give me your sword. I don’t want you trying to hurt me.” He laughed, maliciously, as he took his own sword out, and thrust it at the father. Aurore’s father took out his sword, and handed it to the Cursed Knight, cursing him all the more, and then leading his daughter and wife out of the carriage. “Good, good, now sit!”

The Cursed Knight leaned on the father’s sword, which now was tip down in the dirt, and used his own sword to spear one of the apples that they had brought along on the picnic. He bit into the juicy red fruit, staring at the family.

“What do you want, you fiend? You…monster…killing for pleasure and money!” Rousseau spat at the figure.

“I want money, of course! What else does a mercenary want? Granted, there are people who want you dead, Rousseau, but I would much rather make some money off of you first. Now, I am going to take your daughter.” The Knight grabbed Aurore, who immediately started squirming and crying for her parents. She stopped when the sword was placed against her throat, which also stopped her father from advancing on the Knight. “I will take your daughter, and you will send me the amount of 380,000 francs. You will send it to a little place outside of Paris called Le Vampire Café. From there, it will be sent to two other places, in turn, before coming to me. When I receive this money, I will send your daughter back. If I don’t receive it, I will sell your daughter to the highest bidder. I will make a pretty penny off of this one. And then, I will come back, and murder your wife. I will wait until you do not expect me, and then I will come back and kill you. Do you understand me?” He smiled when Rousseau agreed, and then clapped his hands together. “See, even I, an Evil Scoundrel, can be civil about these matters. Well, I bid you farewell, and hope to see this money within two months. After the first day of the third, your daughter will be sold. Good day, monsieur, Madame.”

He threw Aurore onto the horse, and took off to the East, headed for Rome. They traveled several days in complete and uninterrupted silence.

“I can’t hold it in anymore, monsieur!” Aurore cried, tears leaking from the corners of her icy bleu eyes. “Why can’t I go home? Why would you take me? A little girl? It’s just not right!” She sobbed, “I want to go home!”

The Knight, never understanding children, nor having any emotional basis for sympathy, sighs. “Little one, I took you because your father will pay to get you back. I need money, and you are my key to getting my money. Besides, have you ever been to Rome?”

She looked up at him, “yes, monsieur, I have been to Rome. With my mother, we went to the big Church. It was pretty, and we went into this secret room, and she talked with a bunch of funny dressed men. I think they were called monkeys. But aren’t monkeys a jungle creature?”

“Yes, well, they are. But the men you speak of are called monks. Your mother….I don’t know why you would make up a story about her. Trying to scare me, aren’t you?” He cuffed the side of her head.

Aurore Rousseau remained in silent vigil until their arrival in Rome. They went to the church, in its entire splendor.

The Cursed Knight took Aurore to the church, leaving her there. “Stay here. I will be back by sundown. If you aren’t here, I will go back to your parents, and kill them. Understand me, mademoiselle?” Aurore nodded, close to tears, and terrified. Her green dress had turned brown with dirt, and her hair had more tangles than a briar patch. She stayed at the church, asleep on the floor, but the Knight never came back. When she awoke, she lay not in the church, but in a bedroom made of stone, covered in a warm woolen blanket.

She got up, and realized that she had been bathed, and that she had a clean white nightdress on. She shoved against the heavy oak door with all her might, inching it forward, and then sneaking down the torch-lit stone corridor, her feet pitter-patting. She entered a vast ancient library, smelling of must, dust, and ink, a smell that she will forever retain in her mind as the smells of home, the smells of where she belongs. She traced along a bookshelf in the back of the dark library, and found a book. Writ upon the binding of the book were the Latin words “Obfirmo Quod Key”. Aurore knew not what this meant, but had a feeling that she had seen it before. She tried to pull it out, but as she tried, the shelf shifted away from the wall, leaving a space big enough for her, a child, to easily fit through.

Aurore started as the shelf grumbled back into place behind her, but felt oddly comforted by the light at the bottom of the stairs. Her small bare feet slapped against the stone stairs as she walked carefully down them. She stood on the landing, and stared out over a crowd of monks. She climbed down the rest of the stairs, and tugged the nearest monks robe.

“Monsieur, where am I?” Her eyes implored the monk, in his brown robes, worn in celibacy.

“Petit Mademoiselle, you are in Rome. The Roman Catholic Church, to be exact. And this, this is the secret haven for La Chasseresse de la Nuit. The Huntress of the Night.” He smiled, patting her on the shoulder, and leading her through the chamber, filled with acrid smoke, small explosions, and the occasional “Hail Mary”.

“Excuse moi, monsieur, but who is this huntress? She sounds pretty important. Shouldn’t she be here?” Her courtesy fought daggers with her curiosity.

Brown robes bustling, the monk led her through the crazy mess, and into a calm, clean room, and sat her down in a desk. “Aurore Rousseau, You, a girl child of only eight years of age, are La Chasseresse de la Nuit. You are the Huntress of the Night.”

And so began the story of Aurore Rousseau. The story of La Chasseresse de la Nuit, and her schooling, beginning soon thereafter. She knew not how special she was, nor how dangerous her life would be. This is but one chapter in one story of one Huntress. Many are these women hunters who fight the dark creatures that haunt the night. Those who fight vampires and werewolves, demons and witches. The women with chocolate brown curls, and icy bleu eyes, set amongst their lily white cheeks.