A Loom of Years
Nineteenth Weaving
@Anne E. Fraser 2006
The twentieth century dawned quietly enough, at least in England. All
the excitement seemed to be happening in the Americas these days, which suited
Blaine. (Olivia was a bit bored.) The vampires of North America had decided
against Councils and Princes, policing themselves instead. Often with ruthless
efficiency. Blaine found he couldn’t blame them, although currently the Council
was actually at peace with itself and no Council members were actively
attempting to kill other Council members. Instead they concentrated on their
ordained tasks, hunting rogues, stopping feuds, keeping a weather eye on mages,
shifters, and other denizens of the dark supernatural world.
A terrible war tore Europe apart barely into the new century; it was such a
waste of life that people found it unthinkable there should be another; and
called it the War to End All Wars. Blaine moved the court to Scotland, where he
kept a country house, to wait it out. He very much doubted that this would
truly be the last war ever. Of course he was right.
A lively young organization had sprung up in the state of Maine in New England,
and Baron Gideon Redoak had gone off to join it. The Brotherhood of Darkness,
they called themselves; a rather melodramatic name that made Olivia snort. They
were quite similar to Gen’s Le Societe des Gardiens; in fact, Genevieve admitted
to having suggested the founding of the Brotherhood. An Irish Archdruidical
priest named Tagd O’Scloaidhe, though he called himself Michael Fairlawn, had
been selected as the leader of this nascent group. Blaine knew Tagd, slightly;
he being one of the mages they’d been keeping an eye on. The Druid was a good
man, in every possible sense of the word. The Brotherhood would be fine.
Etienne Corbeau still troubled the world, unfortunately, but since he seemed
content to stay in Germany and Lothar pretended not to understand Council
demands to hand the rogue over for justice, the status quo remained. At the end
of the Great War, the war to end all wars, Lothar showed up at the Council
meeting in England with a successor in tow.
Everyone stared at this self-effacing young vampire, who seemed to shrink away
from the attention. He was blond and very pretty, in a boyish way. His name
was Wilhelm. He hung on every word Lothar uttered and barely spoke to anyone
else. Blaine dismissed him as no more than a fledgling moulded into what Lothar
wanted him to be. It looked as if there would be yet another mad Prince ruling
Germany if Lothar died. Pity, really.
Blaine and Olivia were always to wonder just how deeply involved Lothar and his
court were with Nazi Germany. True, Princes generally did not involve
themselves with human politics, but in this case... any right-thinking
individual would have tried to do something about Hitler. Wouldn’t they? Olivia
thought Blaine was perhaps a bit naive in this thought, since quite a few human
politicians ignored Hitler until he started invading other countries.
The bombing of London forced the evacuation of the British court to Scotland
temporarily. Bombs could kill vampires, weres and Nameless just as brutally as
they killed humans. Blaine fretted over reports of the carnage; Olivia enjoyed
the hunting. One could no longer hunt properly in England, but Scotland still
offered wild game.
Apart from the wars, though, their lives were peaceful through most of the
century. The only real rogue was Corbeau, and he was out of their reach. Lord
Avery seemed to have indeed settled down to behave himself. Julian, the
mysterious blond mage, wandered in and out of England periodically but never
again paid a visit to the British court or British Prince. Olivia was
disappointed. She would have liked to see him again. Blaine was just as happy
not to have to deal with the fellow. He had done them a favour–and that debt was
still unpaid–but ... leave well enough alone.
So Blaine and Olivia watched the times change around them; Olivia mourned the
loss of her woods and the wild animals she had hunted as the progress of the
twentieth century made them obsolete. She found some consolation in the
automobile and better paved roads; with an open car her claustrophobia did not
act up and she took to driving like a duck to water.
Blaine was less taken by this mode of transport, though he did learn to drive
eventually and purchased a stately Bentley that he felt best expressed his
position as Prince. Olivia, in her convertible (British racing green, of
course), teased him quite mercilessly.
Neither of them enjoyed flying very much; Olivia because of the sense of
confinement on a plane; Blaine simply because he didn’t like it. All those
miles above the earth... but it did get one to Council meetings much faster and
it was safer than travelling by car. Especially if one obtained a private plane
and pilots at one’s beck and call. He recruited and turned a licensed pilot for
his staff.
Olivia still kept a stable, smaller now, of horses that had been trained to
carry vampires. They were rare these days, and she kept her stock line pure and
sold foals to other Princes and vampires at premium prices.
Now that travel was easier, she and Blaine did far more rounds of their domain;
woe betide the vampire who set a toe out of line in the British Isles. But
these were few, as the respect most British vampires held for their Prince
bordered on reverence. How far they had come, Olivia reflected upon coming home
from such a trip, from the days when they’d been forced to marry to end the
feuding.
What amazing times they’d had together. Olivia looked forward to the new
millennium, rapidly approaching, wondering what changes it would bring with it.
They already had computers, cell phones (a godsend to the busy working Prince,
but also something of a curse, as there was no escape), what was next?
And then, finally, there came 1993 and tremendous news from America: Etienne
Corbeau was dead. Ashes and gone. Genevieve, almost breathless (well), told
Blaine and Olivia the story on a transatlantic telephone call. Corbeau had
shown up at Gideon Redoak’s home in Maine, demanding that his long-lost
fledgling return to him. However, Genevieve had been there, as had the entire
Brotherhood. Corbeau had been staked twice, beheaded, and the body carefully
burnt. The ashes had been scattered out to sea. He was gone.
Blaine found himself oddly glad that it had been Genevieve and Gideon, along
with some assistance from others, who had done the deed. If anyone had needed
the revenge...
“No,” said Olivia, when he’d told her this, remembering. “Not revenge.
Obliteration.”
Ashes and gone.
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