by Anne Rice
"When this confirmation came to me from the god's own mind," he said, "I was fatally set upon my course. I told the other priests immediately that they were to bring a sacrifice. We had no time for quarreling, and that I should see that the condemned man was given to the god. I should go into the tree with the condemned man. I had no fear to do it. And they must hasten with all things, as the god and I might need the night for our magic to be done.
"It seemed an hour passed before they found the wretched man who was to die in the tree, but at last they brought him forward, bound and weeping, and very fearfully they unlocked the mighty door.
"I could feel the mounting rage of the god inside. I could feel his hunger. And pushing this poor condemned wretch before me, I entered, torch in hand to stand inside the hollowed chamber of the tree."
I nodded with a small smile to say only I know.
Meantime Mael's eyes had shifted to Avicus.
"There stood Avicus much as you see him now," Mael said, still looking at his companion. "And at once, he fell upon the condemned man. He drank the blood of this piteous victim with merciful speed, and then he cast the body away.
"Then Avicus fell upon me, taking the torch from me, hanging it up on the wall so that it seemed dangerously near the wood, and grasping me tight by the shoulders he said,
" 'Tell me of Marius, tell me how he escaped the Sacred Oak. Tell me the story or I'll kill you now.' "
Avicus listened to all this with a calm face. He nodded as if to say, That was how it took place.
Mael turned away from him and looked forward again. "He was hurting me," Mael said. "If I hadn't said something quickly he would have broken my shoulder, so I spoke up, knowing how well he might search my thoughts, and I said, 'Give me the Dark Blood and we shall escape together as you have promised. There is no great secret to what I know. It is a matter of strength and speed. We take to the tree limbs, which they cannot do so easily who follow us, and then we move through the trees.'
" 'But you know the world,' he said to me. 'I know nothing. I have been imprisoned for hundreds of years. I only dimly remember Egypt. I only dimly remember the Great Mother. You must guide me. And so I'll give you the magic and do it well.'
"He was true to his promise. I was made strong from the start. Then together, we listened with minds and ears for the gathered
Faithful of the Forest and the Druid priests, and finding them quite
unprepared for our departure, we forced the door with our united strength.
"At once we took to the treetops, as you had done, Marius. We put our pursuers far behind us, and before dawn we were hunting a settlement many many miles away."
He sat back as though exhausted by his confession. And as I sat there, still too patient and too proud to destroy him, I saw how he had woven me into all of it, and I wondered at it, and I looked to Avicus, the god who for so long had lived in the tree. Avicus looked calmly at me.
"We have been together since that time," Mael said in a more subdued voice. "We hunt the great cities because it is simpler for us, and what do we think of Romans who came as conquerors? We hunt Rome because it is the greatest city of all." I said nothing.
"Sometimes we meet others," Mael continued. His eyes shot towards me suddenly. "And sometimes we are forced to fight them, for they will not leave us in peace." "How so? "I asked.
"They are Gods of the Grove, the same as Avicus, and they are badly burnt and weak and they want our strong blood. Surely you've seen them. They must have found you out. You cannot have been
hiding all these years." I didn't answer.
"But we can defend ourselves," he went on. "We have our hiding places, and with mortals we have our sport, our games. What more is there for me to say?"
He had indeed finished.
I thought of my own existence, my life crowded with so much reading and wandering and with so many questions, and I felt utter pity for him along with my contempt.
Meanwhile the expression on the face of Avicus touched me.
Avicus looked thoughtful and compassionate when he looked at Mael; but then his eyes fell on me and his face quickened.
"And how does the world seem to you, Avicus?" I asked.
At once Mael shot me a glance and then he rose from his chair and came towards me, bending over me, his hand out as if he would strike me.
"This is what you have to say to my story?" he demanded. "You ask of him how he sees the world?"
I didn't answer. I saw my blunder, and had to admit to myself that it wasn't deliberate. But I did wish to hurt him, there was no doubt of it. And this I had done.
Avicus had risen to his feet.
He came to Mael and guided him back, away from me.
"Quiet, my beloved one," he said gentry to Mael. He drew Mael back to his chair. "Let us talk some more before we part with Marius. We have till morning. Please, be calm."
I realized then what had so infuriated Mael. It was not that he thought I had ignored him. He knew better. It was jealousy. He thought that I was trying to woo away from him his friend.
As soon as Mael had taken his chair again, Avicus looked to me almost warmly.
"The world is marvelous, Marius," he said placidly. "I come to it as a blind man after a miracle. I remember nothing of my mortal life except that it was in Egypt. And that I was not myself from Egypt. I am afraid now to go there. I am afraid old gods linger there. We travel the cities of the Empire, except for the cities of Egypt. And there is much for us to see."
Mael was still suspicious. He drew his ragged and filthy cloak up around him as though he might at any moment take his leave.
As for Avicus he looked more than ever comfortable, though he was barefoot and as dirty as Mael. "Whenever we have come upon blood drinkers," said Avicus, "which isn't often, I have feared them, that they would know me for a renegade god."
He said this with considerable strength and confidence so it surprised me.
"But this is never the case," he continued. "And sometimes they speak of the Good Mother and the old worship when the gods would drink the blood of the Evil Doer, but they know less of it than me." "What do you know, Avicus?" I asked boldly. He considered as if he weren't quite sure that he wanted to answer me with truth. Then he spoke.
"I think I was brought before her," he said, his dark eyes rather open and honest.
Mael turned to him sharply, as if he meant to strike him for his frankness, but Avicus went on.
"She was very beautiful. But my gaze was lowered. I couldn't really see her. And they were saying words, and the chanting was frightening to me. I was a grown man, that much I know, and they humiliated me. They spoke of honors that were curses. I may have dreamt the rest."
"We've been here long enough," said Mael suddenly. "I want to go."
He rose to his feet and quite reluctantly Avicus followed. There passed between us, Avicus and me, something silent and secretive, which Mael could not interrupt. Mael knew it, I think, and he was in a sustained fury, but he couldn't prevent it. It was done.
"Thank you for your hospitality," said Avicus, reaching out to take my hand. He looked almost cheerful for a moment. "Sometimes I remember little mortal customs. I remember touching hands in this way."
Mael was in a pale rage.
Of course there was much I wanted to say to Avicus but I knew now that such was very simply impossible.
"Remember," I said to both of them, "I live as a mortal man lives, with the same comforts. And I have my studies always, my books here, you see. Eventually I will travel the Empire, but for now Rome, the city of my birth, is my home. What I learn is what matters to me. What I see with these eyes."
I looked from one to the other of them.
"You can live in this way if you like," I said. "Surely you must take fresh garments from me now. I can so easily provide them. And fine sandals for your feet. If you would have a house, a fine dwelling in which to enjoy your leisure hours, I can assist you in obtaining it. Please take this fro
m me."
Mael's eyes were blazing with hatred.
"Oh, yes," he whispered at me, too angry for a full voice. "And why not offer us a villa on the Bay of Naples, with marble balustrades overlooking the blue sea!"
Avicus looked directly at me. He appeared quiet in his heart and genuinely moved by my words.
But what was the use? I said no more.
My proud calm was suddenly broken. The anger returned along with its weakness. I remembered the hymns of the grove, and I wanted to move against Mael, for all the ugliness of it, to quite literally tear him limb from limb.
Would Avicus move to save him? It was likely. But what if he did not? And what if I proved stronger than both of them, I who had drunk from the Queen?
I looked at Mael. He wasn't afraid of me, which I found interesting.
And my pride returned. I could not stoop to a common physical battle, especially one which might become hideously awkward and ugly, one which I might not win.
No, I was too wise for it. I was too good of heart. I was Marius, who slew the Evil Doer, and this was Mael, a fool.
They made to walk away through the garden and I could find no words to say to them, but Avicus turned to me and said quickly, "Farewell, Marius. I thank you and I will remember you."
And I found myself struck by the words.
"Farewell, Avicus," I answered. And I listened as they disappeared into the night.
I sat there, feeling a crushing loneliness.
I looked at my many bookcases, and at my writing table. I looked at my inkstand. I looked at the paintings on the walls. I should have tried to make peace with Mael, surely, to have Avicus as my friend.
I should go after them both. I should implore them to remain with me. We had so much more to say to one another. I needed them as they needed each other. As I needed Pandora. But I lived the lie. I lived it out of anger. This is what I'm trying to tell you. I have lived lies. I have done it again and again. I live lies because I cannot endure the weakness of anger, and I cannot admit the irrationality of love.
Oh, the lies that I have told myself and others. I knew it yet I didn't know.
6
FOR A FULL MONTH, I didn't dare to go to the shrine of Those Who Must Be Kept. I knew that Mael and Avicus still hunted Rome. I caught glimpses of them with the Mind Gift and occasionally I even spied upon their very thoughts. Sometimes I heard their steps.
Indeed it seemed to me that Mael was actually tormenting me with his presence, attempting to ruin my tenure in the great city, and this made me bitter. I contemplated attempting to drive him and his
companion away.
I also suffered considerable preoccupation with Avicus, whose face I could not forget. What was the disposition of this strange being, I thought. What would it mean for him to be my companion? I feared I would never know.
Meantime, other blood drinkers occasionally hunted the city. I felt their presence immediately, and there was no doubt on one particular night that a skirmish occurred between a powerful and hostile blood drinker and Avicus and Mael. With the Mind Gift I knew all that took place. Avicus and Mael so frightened the visitor that he was gone before morning, and had even given word in a lowly voice that he would never come to Rome again.
This put me to pondering. Would Avicus and Mael keep the city clean of others, while leaving me alone?
As the months passed this seemed to be the case.
A small band of Christian blood drinkers tried to infest our hunting ground. Indeed they came from the same tribe of snake worshipers who had come to me in Antioch insisting that I had old truths. With the Mind Gift I saw them fervently setting up their temple where they meant to sacrifice mortals. I was deeply repelled.
But once again Avicus and Mael put them to rout, apparently without
being contaminated by their extravagant ideas about us serving Satan—a personage for whom Avicus and Mael would have had no use as they were pagans. And the city was ours again.
I did note in watching these activities from afar, however, that neither
Mael nor Avicus seemed to know his own strength. They might have escaped the Druids of Britain by using their supernatural skills, but they were unaware of a secret which I had already learnt—that their powers increased with time.
Now I had drunk the blood of the Mother so I fancied myself much stronger than either of them on that account. But quite apart from that, my strength had increased with the centuries. I could now reach the top of a four-story tenement—of which there were many in Rome—with comparative ease. And no band of mortal soldiers could have ever taken me prisoner. My speed was far too great for that.
Indeed when I took my victims, I already faced the problem of the old ones, to restrain my powerful hands from crushing out the life that pumped the blood into my mouth. And oh, was I ever still thirsty for that blood!
But as I spied upon these various activities—the routing of the Satanic vampires—I stayed away from the shrine of Akasha and Enkil for too long.
Finally one early evening, using my skills at their most powerful to cloak my presence, I did go out into the hills and to the shrine.
I felt that I had to make this visit. Never had I left the Great Pair alone for such a period, and I did not know whether or not there might be consequences for such neglect.
Now I realize such a fear was utterly ridiculous. As the years passed I could neglect the shrine for centuries. It was of no consequence whatsoever. But then I had only begun to learn.
And so I came to the new and barren chapel. I brought with me the requisite flowers and incense, and several bottles of scent with which to sprinkle Akasha's garments, and once I had lighted the lamps and set the incense to burning, once the flowers were in their vases, I felt an overall weakness and went down on my knees.
Let me remind you again that during my years with Pandora, I almost never prayed in this mariner. But now Akasha belonged only to me.
I looked up at the unchanged couple, with their long black plaited
hair, seated on the throne as I had left them, both freshly dressed in their Egyptian clothes of fine linen, Akasha in her pleated gown, the King in his kilt. Akasha's eyes still wore the imperishable black paint which Pandora had so carefully applied. And around Akasha's head was the glistening gold diadem with its rubies which Pandora had placed there with loving hands. Even the gold snake bracelets on her graceful upper arms had been the gift of Pandora. And on the feet of the two were the sandals which Pandora had fastened with care.
It seemed in the wealth of light that they had grown paler in complexion
and I know now, centuries later, that I was right. They were healing rapidly from the Terrible Fire.
On this particular visit, I also paid keen attention to the expression of Enkil. I was too aware of the fact that he did not and had never incited my devotion, and I thought this was unwise.
In Egypt when I had first come to find them — a zealous new blood drinker, inflamed by Akasha's plea to take them out of Egypt — he had moved to block my path to the Queen.
Only with difficulty had he been made to return to his posture of seated King. Akasha had cooperated in that all-important moment, but the movements of both of them had been sluggish and unearthly and dreadful to behold.
That had been three hundred years ago, and the only gesture from either of them since had been the open arm of Akasha to welcome
Pandora to herself.
Oh, how Pandora had been blessed in that gesture from Akasha! I would never forget it all my long years.
What were Enkil's thoughts, I asked myself. Was he ever jealous that I addressed my prayers to Akasha? Did he even know?
Whatever the case, I told him in a silent voice that I was devoted to him, that I would always protect him and his Queen.
At last, reason left me as I gazed on them.
I let Akasha know how much I revered her and how dangerous it had been for me to come. Only out of caution had I remained away. I
would never on my own have left the shrine deserted. Indeed, I should have been here, using my vampiric skill to create paintings for the walls
or to make for them mosaics— for though I never thought of myself as having possessed any skill in this regard— I had used my powers to make passable decorations for the shrine in Antioch, indeed very good ones, whiling away the lonely hours of the night.
But here the walls were simply whitewashed and the abundant flowers I'd brought seemed welcome color indeed.