Post by Shalandra Corrino on Jul 1, 2011 11:25:19 GMT 1
She could hear them, outside the door, coming for her again. Why would they not leave her alone? Years of being stalked and watched like hapless prey by a pack of laza tigers had taught her to listen out for the tell-tale footsteps, the opening and closing of doors, and shadows in the hallway. Shalandra had always been watchful even as a child but the Bene Gesserit had made her a master in it. They appeared not to care that she knew what they were doing though for she had fought, cried and on one or two occasions even begged and yet still the witches hovered around her. Did they have nothing better to busy themselves with than making her existence miserable? She had precious little pleasure in life already thanks to her stuffy overbearing parents and the excruciating pressure they heaped upon her. She was so weary of it, and of the accursed witches.
“Your highness…” the voice of the Sardaukar guard who opened the door to the Princess Royal’s private chamber wavered ever so slightly, as if he was aware of the rebuke which would come, “the Reverend Mother is here to see you...”
“Tell her to go away!” Shalandra snapped, fury surging through her and chasing out the earlier melancholy, “You are supposed to protect me, so do your job you fool!”
“I cannot, Majesty” came the strained reply, “She comes on the orders of your father himself...”
“Useless! Idiot! Get out of my sight!” raged Shalandra impotently, “Will nobody in this place protect me from these hags?!"
And then she was there, slipping soundlessly into the room between the door guards like a baleful shadow. It would be her of course, Callisto Bautista. Of all the vile Sisterhood crones she hated her father’s old Truthsayer the most.
“Princess, we cannot put this off any longer” rasped the old woman in a voice as dry and crackling as old parchment, “Know that I take entirely as little pleasure in the task as you, but it absolutely must be done”.
Shalandra Corrino locked eyes with the older woman for a moment before turning her back and retreating further into her room, refusing to engage with her. Like some monstrous and overgrown bat Bautista stalked the corridors of the Palace, at times seeming to shadowing her every move. Why? Whenever the Emperor’s daughter turned around it seemed the crone was there but she would never explain what interest the Bene Gesserit had in her, and that was the worst of it. Apparently it was their duty to observe her but for what purpose they would never reveal, and Shalandra hated them for it with every fibre of her being.
Then there came the sound of a metallic clank as the witch deposited something on the long table which occupied the centre of the room, followed by footsteps and a soft hiss as the door closed and the guards retreated. Shalandra spun around, fire in her eyes, to take in a small black box upon her coffee table. What trickery was this?
“Put your right hand in the box” instructed the Reverend Mother.
“What? No! I refuse” spat the Princess in reply, “I will not be party to your witchery. Leave me be!”
“Put your right hand in the box”, the old woman's voice was lower now and reverberated strangely through the air in the room like receding thunder.
To her horror Shalandra found herself taking a step forward, her heavy gothic boots clattering loudly against the floor thanks to an enveloping silence which seemed to have descended. With every ounce of willpower she could muster she fought against the overpowering urge to obey, but her body seemed as if it were not her own. Damn her!
“You shall regret this” she growled with supreme effort through unwilling lips, “When my father...”
“Your father sent me here, child” replied the witch in a tone as flat and emotionless as could be, yet which still managed to sound condescending to Shalandra’s ears, “He knows that we can delay no longer and that you must be tested. Your twenty-first birthday passed not so long ago and this moment is long overdue. Many are tested while still in their teens, but we have postponed and delayed yours many times in light of your attitude. We can do so no longer”.
Still powerless to resist whatever magic the crone had worked on her, Shalandra crouched before the low table and pushed an unprotesting hand into the small aperture on the side of the box which faced her. Instantly the Truthsayer was on the other side of the table, moving with speed which the Princess had long ago learned belied her great age. A scrawny arm reached forward and Shalandra saw too late the flash of metal at its tip.
“I hold at your neck a Gom Jabbar, but this one kills only animals” she began in what sounded like a well-rehearsed tone and suggested that she had done this many times before, “Soon you will feel pain, terrible pain, but you must resist it. You must endure it. Surrender to the pain, remove your hand from the box, and you will die”
“You would dare threaten a Princess of the royal blood?!” exclaimed Shalandra incredulously, “Here on my father’s business or not, he would not have given you licence to threaten my life. He could not!”
“Silence! Silence I say!” hissed Bautista with a little of that oddly echoing tone she had employed earlier, and with that Shalandra’s mouth closed up tight and refused to obey her in further protests.
Now Shalandra felt something in her hand, hidden inside that metal box. It was faint tickle at first, as though someone were touching the exposed skin on the back of her hand ever so lightly, but the intensity rapidly increased. Soon it became a sharp itching, and then it began to feel like fire. No! Her hand was burning! Her eyes flashed in terror from the box to the silver needle hovering at her neck and then to the emotionless face of the woman opposite. Had the old witch lost her mind? Spying and mind games were one thing, but to inflict actual physical injury on a member of the royal family was surely beyond the bounds of anything the Emperor could have permitted. Wasn’t it? Suddenly she was not so sure. The relationship she enjoyed with her father could be described as turbulent at best and many a time he had expressed fury at the alleged embarrassment she caused to him and to House Corrino by daring to be different. Had he finally lost all patience and sent the Sisterhood to assassinate her under the guise of some test?
The pain was getting worse and Shalandra tried to flex her unseen fingers. However she found them curiously paralysed and, even as she could feel the waves of heat lashing at her skin, she could do nothing to change her hand's position within the box. Why could she not at least draw it away from the worst of the fire? She bit her lip. Already the pain was well beyond anything she had felt before, and Shalandra was no stranger to pain. This was worse than any knife blade though and she knew that she could not resist much longer. Surely her hand was already scared beyond recognition in any case and with a few moments more it would likely be unsalvageable. Tears rolled down her cheeks, taking her exquisite black eyeliner with them to leave curious black smears, and she clenched her jaw in a desperate last attempt to endure the agony. Why was the vile hag doing this to her?!
It was then that an insane resolve possessed the Princess. She would not pass this test, that much was clear, and already her arm was twitching uncontrollably with the urge to pull her tormented hand away from the heat. She would try to ensure that the foul Bene Gesserit creature died with her though! Flexing her free left hand the daughter of Corrin XXV used her first finger to manipulate the silver thumb-ring she wore. Even as fresh tears welled in her eyes from the now unimaginable pain she depressed a tiny hidden pressure switch, part of an Ixian communication device built into the ring and intended for use in dire emergency.
“Step away from the Princess! Put your hands where I can see them!” came the shouts of two burley Sardaukar as they burst back into the room.
Shalandra screwed shut her eyes and waited for the sting of the needle that would signal her end, but even through the pain she smiled knowing that her gamble had paid off and her loyal guards would surely dispatch the witch forthwith for murdering her. However a rustling of robes and movement next to her head suddenly told her that the impossible had happened: the old Truthsayer had backed off in the face of the Sardaukar. Eyes flicking open, Shalandra snatched her agonized hand out of the box and pulled it towards her. She expected to see little more than a blackened stump after the white hot fire she had been subjected to, and her heart almost jumped out of her chest when she discovered that the limb was in fact quite unharmed. The Princess Royal gazed at it for a moment, struggling to comprehend what had just happened, before realisation set in and anger came with it.
"What sorcery is this?!" she snarled at the witch, who against all the odds had retreated when faced with two lasgun barrels pointed directly at her head.
“As you can see, Princess” replied the old woman, “The pain was an illusion designed to test you, a test you came a hair’s breadth from passing I might add. You may have your men kill me now if you wish, but it will gain you nothing except a visit from another of my Sisters to repeat the test. I suggest you let me leave and write my report, for very soon I think you shall have your wish and be rid of us... one way or another”.
“Get her out of here!” Shalandra howled, clutching her hand protectively to her chest even though the pain was now long gone, “Get her out!”
Collapsing on her bed as the Sardaukar ushered Bautista with her pain box out of the room, Shalandra saw out of the corner of her eye the old Truthsayer begin whispering in the corridor with two more of her kind who as usual had appeared as if from nowhere.
“So close, and yet this princess has turned out to be the most dangerous kind of animal: the one which is almost human. I should have put her out of her misery when I had the chance, but to deprive the Sisterhood of all that I have learned in my time here… no, we must speak to her father. This changes all!”
The hags then retreated down the hallway and the Princess could hear no more. Dangerous kind of animal? Put her out her misery? What madness were these witches speaking?! Well it did not matter for now. What mattered was that she had beaten them. Shalandra Corrino now knew that the Bene Gesserit were not all powerful and at least part of their dread was as an illusory house built upon sand. False pain and an unwillingness to carry through their schemes when faced with the ultimate penalty? Bah! She would not be so afraid of them in the future, but she would hate them all the more. Indeed someday she would show them just what a dangerous animal she could be!
“Your highness…” the voice of the Sardaukar guard who opened the door to the Princess Royal’s private chamber wavered ever so slightly, as if he was aware of the rebuke which would come, “the Reverend Mother is here to see you...”
“Tell her to go away!” Shalandra snapped, fury surging through her and chasing out the earlier melancholy, “You are supposed to protect me, so do your job you fool!”
“I cannot, Majesty” came the strained reply, “She comes on the orders of your father himself...”
“Useless! Idiot! Get out of my sight!” raged Shalandra impotently, “Will nobody in this place protect me from these hags?!"
And then she was there, slipping soundlessly into the room between the door guards like a baleful shadow. It would be her of course, Callisto Bautista. Of all the vile Sisterhood crones she hated her father’s old Truthsayer the most.
“Princess, we cannot put this off any longer” rasped the old woman in a voice as dry and crackling as old parchment, “Know that I take entirely as little pleasure in the task as you, but it absolutely must be done”.
Shalandra Corrino locked eyes with the older woman for a moment before turning her back and retreating further into her room, refusing to engage with her. Like some monstrous and overgrown bat Bautista stalked the corridors of the Palace, at times seeming to shadowing her every move. Why? Whenever the Emperor’s daughter turned around it seemed the crone was there but she would never explain what interest the Bene Gesserit had in her, and that was the worst of it. Apparently it was their duty to observe her but for what purpose they would never reveal, and Shalandra hated them for it with every fibre of her being.
Then there came the sound of a metallic clank as the witch deposited something on the long table which occupied the centre of the room, followed by footsteps and a soft hiss as the door closed and the guards retreated. Shalandra spun around, fire in her eyes, to take in a small black box upon her coffee table. What trickery was this?
“Put your right hand in the box” instructed the Reverend Mother.
“What? No! I refuse” spat the Princess in reply, “I will not be party to your witchery. Leave me be!”
“Put your right hand in the box”, the old woman's voice was lower now and reverberated strangely through the air in the room like receding thunder.
To her horror Shalandra found herself taking a step forward, her heavy gothic boots clattering loudly against the floor thanks to an enveloping silence which seemed to have descended. With every ounce of willpower she could muster she fought against the overpowering urge to obey, but her body seemed as if it were not her own. Damn her!
“You shall regret this” she growled with supreme effort through unwilling lips, “When my father...”
“Your father sent me here, child” replied the witch in a tone as flat and emotionless as could be, yet which still managed to sound condescending to Shalandra’s ears, “He knows that we can delay no longer and that you must be tested. Your twenty-first birthday passed not so long ago and this moment is long overdue. Many are tested while still in their teens, but we have postponed and delayed yours many times in light of your attitude. We can do so no longer”.
Still powerless to resist whatever magic the crone had worked on her, Shalandra crouched before the low table and pushed an unprotesting hand into the small aperture on the side of the box which faced her. Instantly the Truthsayer was on the other side of the table, moving with speed which the Princess had long ago learned belied her great age. A scrawny arm reached forward and Shalandra saw too late the flash of metal at its tip.
“I hold at your neck a Gom Jabbar, but this one kills only animals” she began in what sounded like a well-rehearsed tone and suggested that she had done this many times before, “Soon you will feel pain, terrible pain, but you must resist it. You must endure it. Surrender to the pain, remove your hand from the box, and you will die”
“You would dare threaten a Princess of the royal blood?!” exclaimed Shalandra incredulously, “Here on my father’s business or not, he would not have given you licence to threaten my life. He could not!”
“Silence! Silence I say!” hissed Bautista with a little of that oddly echoing tone she had employed earlier, and with that Shalandra’s mouth closed up tight and refused to obey her in further protests.
Now Shalandra felt something in her hand, hidden inside that metal box. It was faint tickle at first, as though someone were touching the exposed skin on the back of her hand ever so lightly, but the intensity rapidly increased. Soon it became a sharp itching, and then it began to feel like fire. No! Her hand was burning! Her eyes flashed in terror from the box to the silver needle hovering at her neck and then to the emotionless face of the woman opposite. Had the old witch lost her mind? Spying and mind games were one thing, but to inflict actual physical injury on a member of the royal family was surely beyond the bounds of anything the Emperor could have permitted. Wasn’t it? Suddenly she was not so sure. The relationship she enjoyed with her father could be described as turbulent at best and many a time he had expressed fury at the alleged embarrassment she caused to him and to House Corrino by daring to be different. Had he finally lost all patience and sent the Sisterhood to assassinate her under the guise of some test?
The pain was getting worse and Shalandra tried to flex her unseen fingers. However she found them curiously paralysed and, even as she could feel the waves of heat lashing at her skin, she could do nothing to change her hand's position within the box. Why could she not at least draw it away from the worst of the fire? She bit her lip. Already the pain was well beyond anything she had felt before, and Shalandra was no stranger to pain. This was worse than any knife blade though and she knew that she could not resist much longer. Surely her hand was already scared beyond recognition in any case and with a few moments more it would likely be unsalvageable. Tears rolled down her cheeks, taking her exquisite black eyeliner with them to leave curious black smears, and she clenched her jaw in a desperate last attempt to endure the agony. Why was the vile hag doing this to her?!
It was then that an insane resolve possessed the Princess. She would not pass this test, that much was clear, and already her arm was twitching uncontrollably with the urge to pull her tormented hand away from the heat. She would try to ensure that the foul Bene Gesserit creature died with her though! Flexing her free left hand the daughter of Corrin XXV used her first finger to manipulate the silver thumb-ring she wore. Even as fresh tears welled in her eyes from the now unimaginable pain she depressed a tiny hidden pressure switch, part of an Ixian communication device built into the ring and intended for use in dire emergency.
“Step away from the Princess! Put your hands where I can see them!” came the shouts of two burley Sardaukar as they burst back into the room.
Shalandra screwed shut her eyes and waited for the sting of the needle that would signal her end, but even through the pain she smiled knowing that her gamble had paid off and her loyal guards would surely dispatch the witch forthwith for murdering her. However a rustling of robes and movement next to her head suddenly told her that the impossible had happened: the old Truthsayer had backed off in the face of the Sardaukar. Eyes flicking open, Shalandra snatched her agonized hand out of the box and pulled it towards her. She expected to see little more than a blackened stump after the white hot fire she had been subjected to, and her heart almost jumped out of her chest when she discovered that the limb was in fact quite unharmed. The Princess Royal gazed at it for a moment, struggling to comprehend what had just happened, before realisation set in and anger came with it.
"What sorcery is this?!" she snarled at the witch, who against all the odds had retreated when faced with two lasgun barrels pointed directly at her head.
“As you can see, Princess” replied the old woman, “The pain was an illusion designed to test you, a test you came a hair’s breadth from passing I might add. You may have your men kill me now if you wish, but it will gain you nothing except a visit from another of my Sisters to repeat the test. I suggest you let me leave and write my report, for very soon I think you shall have your wish and be rid of us... one way or another”.
“Get her out of here!” Shalandra howled, clutching her hand protectively to her chest even though the pain was now long gone, “Get her out!”
Collapsing on her bed as the Sardaukar ushered Bautista with her pain box out of the room, Shalandra saw out of the corner of her eye the old Truthsayer begin whispering in the corridor with two more of her kind who as usual had appeared as if from nowhere.
“So close, and yet this princess has turned out to be the most dangerous kind of animal: the one which is almost human. I should have put her out of her misery when I had the chance, but to deprive the Sisterhood of all that I have learned in my time here… no, we must speak to her father. This changes all!”
The hags then retreated down the hallway and the Princess could hear no more. Dangerous kind of animal? Put her out her misery? What madness were these witches speaking?! Well it did not matter for now. What mattered was that she had beaten them. Shalandra Corrino now knew that the Bene Gesserit were not all powerful and at least part of their dread was as an illusory house built upon sand. False pain and an unwillingness to carry through their schemes when faced with the ultimate penalty? Bah! She would not be so afraid of them in the future, but she would hate them all the more. Indeed someday she would show them just what a dangerous animal she could be!
