Fidawi

Prologue. For centuries we thought we were alone. We were never more wrong. They were there all this time, we just didn’t know. We weren’t aware. And we never saw. But we know now. They made sure we did. We had rather let them keep us in the dark. Because now we know, it has to end.

No one knows where they come from; no one knows how they started to exist. We don’t even know what they exactly are. They’re not humans, that much is clear. Some of them look like us, but they can change. They transform; they shapeshift. And something that certainly isn’t human it what they become. But they aren’t beasts either. Beasts and monsters we can fight. But we can’t fight them. They’re a force.
We don’t know what they are; we don’t know what they want. We know nothing. We only know that they’re here.

The first time we knew they were here, was five months ago. A woman was found. She had been in a state of shock. Her surroundings were what once had been the small town of Omer, Michigan, United States of America. An entire city was wiped away and all that was left were the smoking ashes that used to be entire buildings and one woman standing amidst them. She had hardly been able to speak. But in the end, they unravelled her babbling back to one thing that she kept repeating; “They’re here.”

From that moment on, we knew. They started attacking us more frequently. On October 26 New York City disappeared from the world map. The area around the city was clouded in thick smoke for four weeks. And after the air had cleared the rampage became clear. There were no survivors at all; just one big, black piece of land. Hell had frozen over. Literally. December 12; San Francisco was destroyed. January 3; Atlanta was no more. The army stood powerless. There was nothing they could do. They didn’t even know where to start. It al happened in the blink of an eye. No one knew what to look for. There was no way of prediction were the next attack would be. South-America fell prey to them. Africa was hunted by their attacks. The Islands of Indonesia and others disappeared under a huge, unnatural wave that without a doubt was also caused by them. The world burned. And there was nothing we could do, but stand aside and watch destruction become a part of our lives.

But as a token of hope, as a sign that not everything was forsaken, there was still the United Kingdom. It was no coincidence that they were never attacked. Ireland was burned to ashes, yet the northern point of that island remained unharmed. Because it was part of the United Kingdom.
When it became clear that the United Kingdom was the last save place on Earth, massive groups of people tried to get there. Some succeeded; most failed. The road to freedom, Great Britain, was cut off. Because they guarded it. And they made sure no one broke through their barriers.

We’re prisoners in our own country. But we have hope. Because we know more than they think we know. We know they have a leader and his will is law. We know they rule the universe. We know they’re so much older than us. We know that they have nothing against us personally. We know it’s just the way they are.

They’re not human, I told you already. And as I said; we can’t label them beasts. Maybe they’re machines. Maybe they’re like the robots we’ve created. Maybe they’re the result of something we ourselves tried to build. But it doesn’t matter how they got to exist. They exist; that is what matters. They have no feelings that make them second guess their actions. Maybe they do feel, but not in the way we feel. Because if they did, they must have felt regret. Instead they only have their thirst; thirst for blood, thirst for pain, thirst for power. They’re predators, always looking for prey. And now they’ve found us. Apparently we make great prey.

We have hope, though. We will not give up. All these years, all these centuries, we thought we were alone. But we weren’t. They were always there. And now we know. And we have to end it.

Maybe I’ll die during battle. Maybe we’ll all die. But I’m willing to die if it means my grandchildren can grow up in a save world. I’m Fidawi. We all are Fidawi. Because in times of need we all are careless of our lives. In times of need we all are willing to die for a cause. And in times of need we all are murderers, murderers who will end it all.

Fidawi — Engaged

“Dime, wake up.”

A soft girl’s voice in his ear. The young man stirred, but didn’t open his eyes. A little girl standing next to his bed shook him just the slightest bit.

“Prince Dime Naughton, you have to wake up,” she repeated. Again, the young man stirred and yet he did not open his eyes. The girl watched him with worried eyes. Her eyes glanced over the bed; over the young lady that lay under the boy’s sheets. The lady had deep red hair and the girl found herself admiring it. She knew this lady; Sirenze Middleton. She was the daughter of a rich businessman. The prince adored and loved her body; merely her body. The little girl had never understood why. Sirenze was a nice girl. She was there when you needed her. She listened carefully, she smiled at the right moments and she always said the things that were most appropriate for the moment. She was perfect for a prince. And yet, here she lies in his bed, as nothing more but a sexual adventure; the sexual adventure of a prince who refused to wake for his own engagement.

“Dime, c’mon, don’t be such a brat,” the small girl softly whispered. She sighed deeply. Waking up the crown prince was a hell of a job. Especially if he had sinned the night before. For the girl, sinning meant alcohol, cigarettes, barely dressed ladies and a skank-y bar. In the princes’ eyes that was just pleasure. And he loved pleasure. There already so much suffering going on; why should he add his own bit of misery by staying at home when he could be out on the streets; sinning, as his servant girl had said it so lovingly? He truly was crazy about the little girl. She had been thirteen years old, an orphan, when he had found her during one of his sinning nights — and they hadn’t parted since then. That was three years ago. His mother has refused her presence in the palace. She didn’t want children from the streets running around. Plus, she had said there was something about the girl.

“She is one of them,” his mother had whispered. The prince had shrugged her concerns off. His mother had changed after the attacks. Though her kingdom was never attacked, she was affected by it. She saw threats around every corner. And she knew, she just knew, they were still here.

With ‘they’ she meant the attackers, those who had wiped out the entire world population, excluding the British people off course. And so the streets of London were crowded with refugees, fugitives without a home. They had fled to England when that had still been possible. But the British society had no place for them. They tried to keep going on with life as if nothing happened, but the changes were always clear. People had lost their jobs; what is the use of hotels if no tourists will ever come, simply because there aren’t any tourists left? What’s the use of the London Stock Exchange when there’s no stock to exchange? Many jobs were not necessary anymore and the unemployment rate was simply rising with the day. Poverty was high, but still, the people weren’t unhappy. Every time life seemed useless they would just think of all those others who had died. And then they would congratulate themselves, because even after all was destroyed, they still had their life. The little girl that the prince called his servant — or just Serva, since she didn’t seem to have a name or at least did not remember hers — was one of the few that were truly unhappy. He had seen it in her eyes and that was why he could not leave her behind. Not even after his mother’s words of warning. He had made her his servant. She was to wake him up, to safely escort his many women through the palace and to help him get dressed. Oh no, not to help him put his clothes on; just to choose what he should wear. If it was up to the prince he would wear nothing but his boxers. But his mother did not deem that to be appropriate dressing for a young man like him. Thus he had Serva to pick his clothes. She did a rather good job. Since she had appeared in his life his mother kept her mouth shut. No sneers about his clothes; the prince loved it. But she would sneer and glare whenever he was late. And that would happen today, without a doubt.

Serva growled. She pinched the prince, called out his name, shook his arm, but still he would not wake.

“You have sinned severely,” she muttered. An eye cracked open.

“I have not!”

Serva’s mouth fell open.

“You’re awake,” she cried out. Dime grinned at her.

“Off course I am,” he smiled. “How could I not be with you whispering in my ear. “You’re turning out to be quite the seductress. Maybe I should have someone else wake me?”

Serva blushed, but she quickly recovered.

“Today is the day of your engagement,” she reminded the prince. He paled considerably, his eye falling on the woman lying next to him.

“Damn it,” he muttered.

“Yes, you better damn it,” Serva agreed. She looked at Sirenze and then thought of Dime’s soon to be fiancée. Oh, how the girl would be pissed. Danielle Barthleby was a feisty little hellion. At least, that was the way Dime always described her. When he spoke of her his voice was always filled with affection. Serva knew he cared deeply for her. He may even love her, who knew.

Serva thought Danielle to be gorgeous. She was slender and tall. She had the built of a model, with a toned stomach and long legs. Her eyes were oriental shaped which gave her an exotic look. She wasn’t extra-ordinary beautiful, but there was something about her that made you look back when she passed you. Maybe it was her aura, Serva didn’t know.

Danielle was the daughter of the Prince of Northern Ireland. That piece of Ireland was a part of the United Kingdom, though it was ruled by someone other than the queen. The Prince of Northern Ireland divided his time; during summers he resided in London, the rest of the year he could be found in Northern Ireland. When Danielle was fifteen, she refused to go back to Ireland, so her father let her stay with the royal family in London. From that moment on the girl could be found in the presence of either Dime or the prince’s younger brother Reverton. But you had more luck finding her with Dime than with the latter. She often stayed with him for the night and if she did, Dime would tell Serva to stay away in the morning, since he did not need a wake up call then. Serva, as a true sucker for romance, believed that her prince and Danielle were meant for each other. And it bothered her that Dime still slept around, even after declaring his undying love for Danielle, just a month ago, when he asked her to marry him.

“She’s going to kill me,” Dime murmured. He had gotten out of bed and was pulling on some clothes that Serva had handed him. Indeed, Danielle was going to kill him, Serva thought. And it serves him right!

×××

In another wing of the palace a young woman slowly awoke. She blinked, wanting to stretch, but two arms kept her strongly in their grip. She glanced over at the clock and stiffened.

“Get up, right now!” she cried out. “I’m serious, get off me.”

What a wake up call. The young man she shared the bed with groaned, but inclined and let her go. Immediately the warmth that she had given him was gone and he groaned again.

“Come back here,” he murmured. “I’m cold.”

Sitting on the bed, the girl gave him a cold glare. He stretched out his arm and quickly snaked it around her waist.

“Please,” he pouted. “Come back to bed.”

She rolled her eyes at him and slapped his arm away.

“Have you seen the time?” she said irritated. “I’m already late!”

She turned around and left the room with a bundle of clothes in her arms. The young man sighed when she was gone and wrapped the blankets tightly around him to keep out the cold.

“Stupid woman,” he muttered.

×××

“Dime, hurry up, please,” Serva sighed, while Dime took all his time to get dressed. “Danielle is going to have your head for dinner if you don’t hurry up.”

Dime grinned.

“No, she won’t,” he laughed. “She loves me.”

Serva shook her head in despair.

“Believe me, love does not change the fact that you’re a dead man,” she muttered. Serva was oh-so right.

Danielle paced through the Ballroom of the castle, looking very, very mad.
“That brother of yours,” she hissed to Reverton. The boy, who was an exact replica of his older brother Dime, except for the chestnut brown hair, where as Dime was raven-haired, smiled. He slid an arm around Danielle’s waist and pulled her close.

“You weren’t on time either,” he whispered in her ear. Danielle’s body stiffened against him and she glared.

“Get out,” she snapped. “Now!”

Reverton sent her one last smile before he exited the room. Danielle sighed. She was beginning to hate this day. Her dress was way too tight and much too long — on her way to the ballroom she almost tripped twice. The queen had lectured her about Dime’s absence, as if she could help it that the brat was late as usual. And on top of that, Reverton was being an ass.

She would just kill the entire royal family. Bye queen, bye Dime, bye Reverton. It was the perfect solution. Except for the fact that she loved them all too much to actually harm them.

“Curse you all.”

“Such language, love, such language.”

Dime grinned and kissed his fiancée on the lips. Danielle turned her head and glared at him.

“Where were you?” she asked.

“He was sinning,” Serva replied. “Together with Sirenze.”

Dime shot her an annoyed look.

“Did you have to tell her, Serva?” he sighed.

“Yes, she had to tell me,” Danielle answered in the girl’s place. “I am your fiancée and if you cheat on me, I wish to know.”

The look on her face was one of great anger and Dime took one cautious step back.

“Where is Reverton?” he asked, quickly jumping to another subject.

“Out,” Danielle simply said.

“O,” was Dime’s only response.

Danielle flashed him a smirk.

“Yes, certainly ‘o’.”

Serva could almost sense Danielle’s anger from where she stood. She had to suppress a small smile at seeing Dime’s face. He tried to look innocent but was failing miserably.

“Who was he with?” Danielle asked. “I forgot her name.”

Dime shot Serva a glance to shut her up, but she ignored him.

“Sirenze Middleton,” she answered. “The red-haired.”

Danielle snorted. Her mouth was a thin line and Dime cautiously took one step back.

“Danielle, please, we’ll talk about it later,” he pleaded. “Today is the official announcement of our engagement. Let’s be happy.”

Now it was Serva’s turn to snort. Be happy? If he had truly been happy he would not have spent the night with Sirenze. She wisely kept her words to herself. But one look at Danielle made clear that the girl thought the same thing. Serva saw hurt in her eyes, barely visible, but still there underneath the thick layer of anger. She gave the girl an encouraging smile and Danielle sent her a thankful look. The two girls understood each other; at least, at that moment it felt as if they were on the same line. Even Dime felt the silent communication between them and he felt left out. He grabbed Danielle’s arm and smiled.

“Come on, let’s go see the queen.”

Danielle sighed.

“Yes, we better do that,” she replied. “The woman already lashed out at me when you weren’t here half an hour ago.” She smiled at Serva, before she turned and walked out of the ballroom with Dime. Serva watched them. The way Dime had wrapped his arm around Danielle’s slender waist was possessive, fitting for his dominant personality, and Danielle’s head that almost rested on his shoulder while they walked showed affection. They seemed happy, even though just minutes before Danielle had been seething with anger. And for a good reason. Now everything seemed to be all right between them, Serva couldn’t help but to feel a bit of resentment.

“Now, don’t look at them like that.”

Unknowingly to Serva Reverton had entered the ballroom. He grinned and Serva shrugged.

“Look at them like what?” she asked innocently.

Reverton laughed, but it wasn’t a happy laugh. To Serva it almost sounded bitter. But she could’ve been mistaken.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” he said. “And I know exactly what you’re talking about.”

×××

“Two hours late, Dime, two whole hours.”

The queen sat in her state chair, looking thoroughly annoyed.

“I will not have a go at your lovely fiancée,” she sighed, “since I already spoke to her. But you, my son, you disappoint me. Did you not tell me you had a servant who would wake you up in time?”

Dime cringed under her stare and Danielle silently snickered. She enjoyed Dime’s obvious discomfort. But when the queen averted her gaze towards the girl, the smile immediately died of her face.

“Are you ready, child?” the queen asked her. “The city of London has come to the palace to see the two of you. My husband, the First Prince, has been entertaining them and the weather is lovely. But in the end, they’re here for you and your engagement.”

Danielle knew exactly what she meant. After three long years of fear and destruction, news from attacks all over the world, the marriage of their crown prince was something the British people had looked forward to. It took their mind f the things that were going on in the world. It was happiness and joy; an excuse to turn away from all the sadness, even if it was just for a couple of hours.

A cough came from behind them.

“Prince Merrante Dillon, how nice of you to join us,” the queen smiled. She motioned a young man to come closer. He had light skin, fairer than that of the prince, but they still looked a lot a like. They had the same eyes and nose, the same black hair. They may even looked more a like than the prince and his own brother.

The man bowed for the queen, but she waved him away.

“Oh please, Merrante, you’re family,” she said. It was clearly that she held great affection for the young man and he grinned, which made him look boyish.

“Big day, Dime,” he smiled, patting the prince’s back. He gave Danielle a pointed look, so fast and subtle, that no one but she saw it. The prince and Merrante had been friends since forever. They were always together, as toddlers, crawling through the castle, as young boys, trying to sneak a peek under the ladies’ dressed and as young man, going to the night clubs and picking up various women. They had done it all together. Reverton sometimes accompanied them, but it mostly had been Dime and Merrante. And some how, for some strange reason, Merrante disliked Danielle. It hadn’t always been like that. At first they had laughed together, they had even briefly dated, but from the moment things started to get serious between her and Dime, he had turned his back on her. She some times wondered if he was jealous, but then again, he had nothing to be jealous off. Merrante had never loved her the way Dime loved her, right, and they broke up long before she and Dime became an item. Yet, here he was, glaring at her and only her.

“What are you doing here?” she asked him, not even bothering to hide the disdain in her voice. If he wanted to be like that, she would play along.

“My best friend is getting engagement,” Merrante sneered. “What do you think I’m doing here?”

Dime sensed the tension and smiled weakly.

“Technically we’re already engaged, mate,” he said, holding up Danielle’s hand and showing the delicate golden ring.

“Unfortunately,” Merrante muttered.

The queen seemed to be oblivious to the little exchange of words as she stared out of the balcony window.

“Your brother is outside,” she murmured to no one in particular, though she seemed to be addressing Dime. “He looks so handsome in his uniform. My little boy…”

Then suddenly she looked up.

“Danielle dear, do you know Reverton is riding your horse?” she called out. She waved Danielle over and the girl applied, walking closer to the queen and the window. Indeed, outside she saw thousands and thousands of people, being held in order by the army officers. There was a royal guard, mounted on white horses, but in the middle of the stood a young man on a black horse.

“He is,” she said softly. The black stallion was hers and stood out between the white horses, but somehow it seemed fit. The queen smiled.

“He always had a mind of his own,” she smiled. Yes, he sure has, Danielle thought. She felt Dime’s presence even before he had put a hand on her shoulder and leaned back against his broad chest.

“This is it,” she murmured. “It is,” he whispered. His hot breath tickled her ear and she smiled. Marrying Dime would change everything. She turned her head a bit so that she faced Dime.

“You know I love you, right?” she asked softly. He nodded slowly and bended over, placing a lingering kiss on her lips.

“And you know I love you,” he replied. He felt her smile against his lips and pulled her close for a moment.

“I hope this love is enough,” she whispered, so soft that he barely heard it. But when he did, he closed his eyes and sighed. He had been thinking the exact same thing; if only their love was enough. He took in her scent, burrowing his nose in the crook of her neck, causing her to shiver just the slightest bit.

“Are you ready?” he asked in a whisper.

“No,” she answered truthfully. It made him smile and he let go of her, lacing his fingers through hers.

“Too bad for you,” he grinned. She smiled up at him, one of her gorgeous smiles, and squeezed his hand.

“Let’s do this before I lose all my courage,” she smiled. And with that said, Dime opened the balcony doors and stepped outside, followed by his mother and father and Merrante. The crowd erupted in cheering and both Dime and Danielle could do nothing else but smile.

“Look at them,” the queen laughed. “They’re so happy.”

The queen waved at the people down on the streets, she blew them kisses and she seemed so happy. She looked just like her folk did; content. Danielle couldn’t suppress a sigh and Dime squeezed her hand.

Story by Daanana (Desideria Keys) · March 2008 · Originally published on novlet.com