"Princess of the Feral Boys"
"Princess of the Feral Boys"
5/18/2020
I.
A gaunt figure dressed in black strode silently through knee deep waters. This far north into Virginia, the Great Dismal Swamp was marshy land which could mostly be navigated on foot. In his watertight field suit, Jeremy Bane remained dry. If he had sealed his helmet to the high collar of the jacket, he could have lain submerged in comfort.
Late afternoon showed a dim and eerie green as slanting sunbeams filtered through dense overhead foliage. The Dire Wolf followed the child in front of him, impressed at how quickly she moved through the murky water. Never slipping, never hesitating, the fact she was barefoot made her confidence even more striking. In one grimy hand, she clutched a broken tree limb tall as she was and she used it to rapidly probe ahead of her.
Sue-Louise was of the Feral Boys, that strange race of outcast tribes who had not been accepted into the Seminoles but who had thrived and spread over the South in secrecy. Bane knew that the child was eleven but she looked younger because of poor nutrition. Stringy dark blonde hair hung in tangles to her shoulders. The girl wore a white cotton dress, short sleeved and reaching to her knees, with two deep pockets on its front.
Reaching a higher patch of dry ground with a cypress tree hanging nearly sideways, the Feral Girl hopped nimbly up onto it. She swung around with an extended hand to help but saw Bane leap
up out of the foul water higher than she had. The Dire Wolf landed in a crouch, fingers of one hand touching the damp grass, ready for any attack.
"You is nimble on yo feet for a white boy," she said. Despite her blonde hair and cornflower blue eyes, Sue-Louise regarded herself as one of the Feral Boys, Native Americans for a thousand generations. To her, Bane was a white man from Yankee territory and there was no use discussing the matter.
The Dire Wolf thumbed the left ear pod of his helmet and the visor slid up into its crest. The face revealed was narrow, intense, with pale grey eyes under heavy black brows. "We've covered at least ten miles since dawn."
"Taint nearly enough. Them renegades is like gators, they don't tire. They is coming for us now."
"Four of them, your clan leader said. At least one has a rifle, one has a bow." Bane stood and turned slowly in a circle. "I have a plan to lure them into a trap."
"I wish my pappy was here," said Sue-Louise. "Or my cousins Paul-Paul and John-Wally. They know the ways of this land. I'd feel safe wid them on hand."
Bane remained calm and focused. "We have to deal with the situation as it is. Your leader met me in Galvinsburg. He knew the renegades were after you, and he wanted you returned safe to your family. I was nearby. There wasn't time to send for other Feral Boys from this area. What he didn't say is why these killers are trying to get hold of you."
She sniffed and wiped her nose with a forearm. "It's because'a the bloodline, Mistuh Bane. My daddy and me are descended from Feral Boy royalty. Chief Gilbert-Ron was our great-grandfather."
"Okay, I'm following you so far."
"In a year maybe two, I'll be ripe fer breeding. Popping out a new prince. Us Feral Boys folks ain't had a real prince in too long. We's too scattered to do ourselves any good."
Bane snorted. "I don't care if you people consider yourselves a separate nation. Twelve is no age of consent anywhere."
"Walll, it ain't for you to decide, suh." She twiddled the three foot stick she had been using as a cane. "I know you has weapons of all kinds hidden on yuh. Lemme use a knife."
"All right." His gray eyes were never still, moving rapidly over each spot where a person could be hidden, where a movement meant danger. Bane reached up one jacket sleeve and drew out a short, narrow-bladed throwing dagger without a guard. "Careful with this, it's expensive."
Sue-Louise twirled the knife and grinned, showing a missing upper canine. "Silver! You a witch-slayer, Mr Bane?"
"Yes." He did not elaborate further. Despite the conversation with the child, most of his attention was focused on their surrounding. A splash far behind them sounded like nothing more than a fish leaping out of the water to catch a fly. He turned some of his attention back to the little girl he was supposed to be protecting.
She had quickly whittled away one end of the stick to a point that looked sharp and intimidating, and now she regarded it with a satisfied smirk.
The Dire Wolf held out his hand to request the return of his silver dagger. As he returned it to his forearm sheath, he said, "Planning on using that on the renegades?"
"What? Hayll no. I'm hopin' to fry some catfish for supper. Wood round here ain't TOO wet to get a fire started." She lowered the stick and turned those light blue eyes on him critically. "You gettin' paid to bring me home, mister?"
"No," Bane anwered. "Your clan leader asked me to help. We have a truce. A few years ago, a friend of mine killed Gator Joe. Your leader and I met and agreed to try to keep your people and the regular inhabitants of Virginia from getting in each others' way."
"Hah! Yeah right. Gator Joe ain't been heard of in ages."
"So," Bane continued, "I send regular shipments of canned food, rice, aspirin, bandages, that sort of thing to post offices boxes around the Dismal Swamp. The Feral Boys mostly are content to do their hunting and fishing in their own turf. Less trouble this way."
"I seen some of them packages!" Sue-Louise interrupted. "Them vitamin packets you stir into water. I don't mind them, they taste like oranges."
Bane wheeled around, moving quicker than her eyes could track and a long-barreled Smith & Wesson revolver appeared like a conjuring trick within his left hand. It blasted twice, deafening at close range. Twenty yards away, a heavy splash sounded as the echoes of the gunfire reverberated.
Getting to her feet herself, Sue-Louise only then noticed what the Dire Wolf was holding in his other hand. It was a three-foot fibreglass arrow with a barbed hunting tip. He grasped it halfway down the shaft. "I don't believe it. You CAUGHT that thang?"
The Dire Wolf tossed the arrow aside without answering. "He was on a branch that creaked under his weight. There. That cypress that's hanging low over the water. I tagged him both times center mass." Reaching in a pocket of his field jacket, he drew out two cartridges to replaced what he had fired.
"They found us," Sue-Louise whispered. "That was Nestor-Jack the tracker. The others'll be close behind him, bet yo ass."
"We'll be ready," said Bane in a low quiet tone.
II.
Watching from a stretch where the oily water was chest deep, three of the Feral Boys watched the island in the gathering dusk. One held a rifle wrapped tightly in oilskins to keep it dry, another kept his lightweight Glock 19 tied on top of his head with twine. In the fading light, they looked similar enough to each other to be related. The Feral Boys had mixed and intermarried so much with the general population that they came in all likenesses. These were wiry, olive-skinned man with coarse black hair chopped short at the neck. All they wore were cotton trousers and open denim vests, soaked completely by now.
The oldest Feral Boy had a face apparently molded by nature to appear brutal with its flat wide nose, heavy brow ledge and sullen jaw. "They started a fire," he whispered. "Some big branches startin' to burn. Make for easy targets."
"Yeah, Tom-Tom. I can see the Princess. Thar. That shape a'squatting by the fire. No more than knee high, that's her. Mother of the new prince," replied another.
The leader Tom-Tom growled deep in his chest. "Ain't gonna be no new prince to talk peace terms. We ain't burned no houses in years. We ain't taken new slaves in so long that our younguns won't know how to keep 'em in line."
Furthest behind them, the third Feral Boy muttered, "Don't seem right, slaying a child that way. Give her time to decide for her own self, I say."
Tom-Tom raised his voice above a rumble in his anger. "Yore dealin' with the bloodline, fool. No chances can be taken. Come on behind me. Real quiet and slow. I don't wanna hear a ripple."
With infinite patience, three renegades stalked closer to the island where the fire was crackling warm in the chilly night. Behind them, the faintest of gurgles sounded.
Twisting his head, Tom-Tom hissed, "Lucas-Joe? Lucas?" No answer came. The surface behind them was resuming its smoothness.
"Dida gator grab him?"
"That quick and that silent? Hayll no. It's that Dire Wolf bastard we was warned about. Come on, let's get this over with."
They waded noisily through the water, and Tom-Tom got off two shots with his Marlin .30-.30 that slammed into the huddled form by the fire to knock it over. Before a third round could be loosed, Tom-Tom felt an incredibly strong hand clamp down like iron over his face, pulling him back into the water, then there was an agonizing pain across his throat and he left this life.
Scrambling up onto the low mossy island where the fire burned, the remaining renegade ripped the pistol loose from where it was tied to his head and thrust its barrel forward. Then he froze. There was no dead body there. By the fire was a black jacket stuffed with branches that had been slammed over by the rifle bullets.
As the Feral Boy hesitated for a fatal moment of confusion, a small form swung up from the brush and plunged the needle point of a sharpened stick into his chest. It pierced his heart as accurately as any surgeon could match. Dropping his gun, clutching at the stick but unable to pull it free before he died, the renegade fell and rolled off the island to splash into the water.
"That makes four," Bane announced grimly. Without the field jacket he had used as bait, his black crewneck shirt dripped cold rank water. He vaulted up onto the island and met the calm stare of Sue-Louise with open surprise.
"I wasn't expecting you to do that," he said to her without anger. "The plan was for you to stay behind that tree while I finished this last one off."
"And let a white boy fight my fight?" she sniffed. Then, despite herself, she grinned like any urchin caught breaking a rule. "Tain't fitting for a princess of the Feral Boys."
6/7/2020
5/18/2020
I.
A gaunt figure dressed in black strode silently through knee deep waters. This far north into Virginia, the Great Dismal Swamp was marshy land which could mostly be navigated on foot. In his watertight field suit, Jeremy Bane remained dry. If he had sealed his helmet to the high collar of the jacket, he could have lain submerged in comfort.
Late afternoon showed a dim and eerie green as slanting sunbeams filtered through dense overhead foliage. The Dire Wolf followed the child in front of him, impressed at how quickly she moved through the murky water. Never slipping, never hesitating, the fact she was barefoot made her confidence even more striking. In one grimy hand, she clutched a broken tree limb tall as she was and she used it to rapidly probe ahead of her.
Sue-Louise was of the Feral Boys, that strange race of outcast tribes who had not been accepted into the Seminoles but who had thrived and spread over the South in secrecy. Bane knew that the child was eleven but she looked younger because of poor nutrition. Stringy dark blonde hair hung in tangles to her shoulders. The girl wore a white cotton dress, short sleeved and reaching to her knees, with two deep pockets on its front.
Reaching a higher patch of dry ground with a cypress tree hanging nearly sideways, the Feral Girl hopped nimbly up onto it. She swung around with an extended hand to help but saw Bane leap
up out of the foul water higher than she had. The Dire Wolf landed in a crouch, fingers of one hand touching the damp grass, ready for any attack.
"You is nimble on yo feet for a white boy," she said. Despite her blonde hair and cornflower blue eyes, Sue-Louise regarded herself as one of the Feral Boys, Native Americans for a thousand generations. To her, Bane was a white man from Yankee territory and there was no use discussing the matter.
The Dire Wolf thumbed the left ear pod of his helmet and the visor slid up into its crest. The face revealed was narrow, intense, with pale grey eyes under heavy black brows. "We've covered at least ten miles since dawn."
"Taint nearly enough. Them renegades is like gators, they don't tire. They is coming for us now."
"Four of them, your clan leader said. At least one has a rifle, one has a bow." Bane stood and turned slowly in a circle. "I have a plan to lure them into a trap."
"I wish my pappy was here," said Sue-Louise. "Or my cousins Paul-Paul and John-Wally. They know the ways of this land. I'd feel safe wid them on hand."
Bane remained calm and focused. "We have to deal with the situation as it is. Your leader met me in Galvinsburg. He knew the renegades were after you, and he wanted you returned safe to your family. I was nearby. There wasn't time to send for other Feral Boys from this area. What he didn't say is why these killers are trying to get hold of you."
She sniffed and wiped her nose with a forearm. "It's because'a the bloodline, Mistuh Bane. My daddy and me are descended from Feral Boy royalty. Chief Gilbert-Ron was our great-grandfather."
"Okay, I'm following you so far."
"In a year maybe two, I'll be ripe fer breeding. Popping out a new prince. Us Feral Boys folks ain't had a real prince in too long. We's too scattered to do ourselves any good."
Bane snorted. "I don't care if you people consider yourselves a separate nation. Twelve is no age of consent anywhere."
"Walll, it ain't for you to decide, suh." She twiddled the three foot stick she had been using as a cane. "I know you has weapons of all kinds hidden on yuh. Lemme use a knife."
"All right." His gray eyes were never still, moving rapidly over each spot where a person could be hidden, where a movement meant danger. Bane reached up one jacket sleeve and drew out a short, narrow-bladed throwing dagger without a guard. "Careful with this, it's expensive."
Sue-Louise twirled the knife and grinned, showing a missing upper canine. "Silver! You a witch-slayer, Mr Bane?"
"Yes." He did not elaborate further. Despite the conversation with the child, most of his attention was focused on their surrounding. A splash far behind them sounded like nothing more than a fish leaping out of the water to catch a fly. He turned some of his attention back to the little girl he was supposed to be protecting.
She had quickly whittled away one end of the stick to a point that looked sharp and intimidating, and now she regarded it with a satisfied smirk.
The Dire Wolf held out his hand to request the return of his silver dagger. As he returned it to his forearm sheath, he said, "Planning on using that on the renegades?"
"What? Hayll no. I'm hopin' to fry some catfish for supper. Wood round here ain't TOO wet to get a fire started." She lowered the stick and turned those light blue eyes on him critically. "You gettin' paid to bring me home, mister?"
"No," Bane anwered. "Your clan leader asked me to help. We have a truce. A few years ago, a friend of mine killed Gator Joe. Your leader and I met and agreed to try to keep your people and the regular inhabitants of Virginia from getting in each others' way."
"Hah! Yeah right. Gator Joe ain't been heard of in ages."
"So," Bane continued, "I send regular shipments of canned food, rice, aspirin, bandages, that sort of thing to post offices boxes around the Dismal Swamp. The Feral Boys mostly are content to do their hunting and fishing in their own turf. Less trouble this way."
"I seen some of them packages!" Sue-Louise interrupted. "Them vitamin packets you stir into water. I don't mind them, they taste like oranges."
Bane wheeled around, moving quicker than her eyes could track and a long-barreled Smith & Wesson revolver appeared like a conjuring trick within his left hand. It blasted twice, deafening at close range. Twenty yards away, a heavy splash sounded as the echoes of the gunfire reverberated.
Getting to her feet herself, Sue-Louise only then noticed what the Dire Wolf was holding in his other hand. It was a three-foot fibreglass arrow with a barbed hunting tip. He grasped it halfway down the shaft. "I don't believe it. You CAUGHT that thang?"
The Dire Wolf tossed the arrow aside without answering. "He was on a branch that creaked under his weight. There. That cypress that's hanging low over the water. I tagged him both times center mass." Reaching in a pocket of his field jacket, he drew out two cartridges to replaced what he had fired.
"They found us," Sue-Louise whispered. "That was Nestor-Jack the tracker. The others'll be close behind him, bet yo ass."
"We'll be ready," said Bane in a low quiet tone.
II.
Watching from a stretch where the oily water was chest deep, three of the Feral Boys watched the island in the gathering dusk. One held a rifle wrapped tightly in oilskins to keep it dry, another kept his lightweight Glock 19 tied on top of his head with twine. In the fading light, they looked similar enough to each other to be related. The Feral Boys had mixed and intermarried so much with the general population that they came in all likenesses. These were wiry, olive-skinned man with coarse black hair chopped short at the neck. All they wore were cotton trousers and open denim vests, soaked completely by now.
The oldest Feral Boy had a face apparently molded by nature to appear brutal with its flat wide nose, heavy brow ledge and sullen jaw. "They started a fire," he whispered. "Some big branches startin' to burn. Make for easy targets."
"Yeah, Tom-Tom. I can see the Princess. Thar. That shape a'squatting by the fire. No more than knee high, that's her. Mother of the new prince," replied another.
The leader Tom-Tom growled deep in his chest. "Ain't gonna be no new prince to talk peace terms. We ain't burned no houses in years. We ain't taken new slaves in so long that our younguns won't know how to keep 'em in line."
Furthest behind them, the third Feral Boy muttered, "Don't seem right, slaying a child that way. Give her time to decide for her own self, I say."
Tom-Tom raised his voice above a rumble in his anger. "Yore dealin' with the bloodline, fool. No chances can be taken. Come on behind me. Real quiet and slow. I don't wanna hear a ripple."
With infinite patience, three renegades stalked closer to the island where the fire was crackling warm in the chilly night. Behind them, the faintest of gurgles sounded.
Twisting his head, Tom-Tom hissed, "Lucas-Joe? Lucas?" No answer came. The surface behind them was resuming its smoothness.
"Dida gator grab him?"
"That quick and that silent? Hayll no. It's that Dire Wolf bastard we was warned about. Come on, let's get this over with."
They waded noisily through the water, and Tom-Tom got off two shots with his Marlin .30-.30 that slammed into the huddled form by the fire to knock it over. Before a third round could be loosed, Tom-Tom felt an incredibly strong hand clamp down like iron over his face, pulling him back into the water, then there was an agonizing pain across his throat and he left this life.
Scrambling up onto the low mossy island where the fire burned, the remaining renegade ripped the pistol loose from where it was tied to his head and thrust its barrel forward. Then he froze. There was no dead body there. By the fire was a black jacket stuffed with branches that had been slammed over by the rifle bullets.
As the Feral Boy hesitated for a fatal moment of confusion, a small form swung up from the brush and plunged the needle point of a sharpened stick into his chest. It pierced his heart as accurately as any surgeon could match. Dropping his gun, clutching at the stick but unable to pull it free before he died, the renegade fell and rolled off the island to splash into the water.
"That makes four," Bane announced grimly. Without the field jacket he had used as bait, his black crewneck shirt dripped cold rank water. He vaulted up onto the island and met the calm stare of Sue-Louise with open surprise.
"I wasn't expecting you to do that," he said to her without anger. "The plan was for you to stay behind that tree while I finished this last one off."
"And let a white boy fight my fight?" she sniffed. Then, despite herself, she grinned like any urchin caught breaking a rule. "Tain't fitting for a princess of the Feral Boys."
6/7/2020