The Complete Vampire Chronicles 12-Book Bundle (The Vampire Chronicles)

by Rice, Anne

  “Perhaps so,” he said, “if you let me kiss you,” and caressing her tightly, he sank his teeth quickly into her neck, drinking hard and fast, and then letting her go, watching her drift and smile, cunning, yet sweet, unaware of what had happened to her.

  There was no getting much blood from these three. They were too gentle. Round and round he turned her in the dance, wanting desperately to steal another drink but not daring to do it.

  He felt the blood pounding inside him, but it wanted more blood. His hands and feet were now painfully cold.

  He saw that Marius was seated again at their table and talking to a hulking heavily dressed mortal who sat beside him. Marius had his arm over the creature’s shoulder.

  Finally Thorne took the pretty woman back to her place. How tenderly she looked at him.

  “Don’t go,” she said. “Can’t you stay with me?”

  “No, my dearest,” he said. He felt the monster in him as he gazed down at her. And backing away, he turned and made his way to Marius.

  The music made him wobbly on his feet. How dreary it was, how persistent.

  Marius was drinking from the man as the man bent over near him as if listening to whispered secrets. At last Marius released him and righted him in his chair.

  “It will take too many here,” said Thorne.

  His words were inaudible in the din of the electric music but he knew that Marius could hear him.

  Marius nodded. “Then we seek the Evil Doer, friend, and we feast,” said Marius. He sat still as he scanned the room, as if listening to each and every mind.

  Thorne did the same, probing steadily with the Mind Gift, but all he could hear was the electric confusion of the music makers, and the desperate need of the pretty woman who still looked at him. How much he wanted her. But he could not take such an innocent creature, and his friend would forsake him if he did, and that was more important perhaps than his own conscience.

  “Come,” said Marius. “Another place.”

  Out into the night they went again. It was only a few short paces to a large gambling den, this one filled with the green tables on which men play the game of craps, and on which the wheels spun for the all-important winning numbers.

  “There, you see,” said Marius, pointing with his gloved finger at a tall gaunt black-haired young man who had withdrawn from the game, holding his cold glass of ale in his hand, only watching. “Take him into the corner. There are so many places along the wall.”

  Immediately Thorne went to it. With a hand on the young man’s shoulder he looked into his eyes. He must be able now to use the old Spell Gift which so many blood drinkers were lacking. “You come with me,” he said. “You’ve been waiting for me.” It reminded him of old hunts and old battles.

  He saw the mist in the young man’s eyes, he saw the memory vanish. The young man went with him to the bench along the wall, and there they sat together. Thorne massaged the neck with thumb and fingers before he drank, thinking quietly within himself, Now your life will be mine, and then he sank his teeth deep and he drew easily and slowly with all his power.

  The flood poured into his soul. He saw the dingy images of rampant crime, of other lives snuffed out by his victim with no thought of judgment or punishment. Give me only your blood. He felt the heart inside the man burst. And then he released the body, and let it lie back against the wall. He kissed the wound, letting a bit of his own blood heal it.

  Waking from the dream of the feast, he gazed about the dim smoky room, so full of strangers. How alien all humans seemed, and how hopeless their plight. Cursed as he was, he could not die, but death was breathing on all of them.

  Where was his Marius? He couldn’t find him! He rose from the bench, eager to get away from the victim’s soiled and ugly body, and he moved into the press again, stumbling full on a hard-faced, cruel man who took the nudge as an opportunity for a quarrel.

  “You pushing me, man?” said the mortal with narrow hateful eyes as he gazed at Thorne.

  “Come now,” said Thorne, probing the mind, “have you killed men just for pushing you?”

  “I have,” said the other, his mouth in a cruel sneer. “I’ll kill you too, if you don’t get out of here.”

  “But let me give you my kiss,” said Thorne, and clutching this one by the shoulders he bent to sink his teeth as the others around him, totally unaware of the secret fangs, laughed at this intimate and puzzling gesture. He drew a rich draught. Then licked the place artfully.

  The hateful stranger was baffled and weakened, and tottered on his feet. His friends continued to laugh.

  Quickly Thorne made his way out of the place and into the snow, and there he found Marius waiting for him. The wind was stronger than before, but the snow itself had stopped falling.

  “The thirst is so strong now,” said Thorne. “When I slept in the ice, I kept it like a beast chained up, but now it rules me. Once begun, I can’t stop. I want more even now.”

  “Then more you’ll have. But kill you can’t. Not even in such a city as large as this. Come, follow me.”

  Thorne nodded. He had already killed. He looked at Marius, confessing this crime silently. Marius shrugged his shoulders. Then he put his arm around Thorne as they walked on.

  “We’ve many places to visit.”

  It was almost dawn when they returned to the house.

  Down into the wood-lined cellar they went, and there Marius showed Thorne to a chamber cut into the stone. The walls of it were cold, but a large sumptuous bed had been made inside the chamber, hung with brightly colored linen draperies, and heaped with intricately sewn covers. The mattress looked thick and so did the many pillows.

  It was startling to Thorne that there was no crypt, no true hiding place. Anyone could find him here. It seemed as simple as his cave in the North, but far more inviting, far more luxurious. He was so tired in all his limbs that he could scarce speak. Yet he was anxious.

  “Who is to disturb us here?” asked Marius. “Other blood drinkers go to their rest in this strange darkness just as we do. And there is no mortal who can enter here. But if you are afraid, I understand if we must seek some other shelter for you.”

  “Do you sleep in this way, unguarded?” Thorne asked.

  “Even more so, in the bedroom above, like a mortal man, sprawled on my mattress in the cabinet bed among my comforts. The only enemy who has ever harmed me was a swarm of blood drinkers. They came when I was fully awake and aware as must needs be. If you like, I shall tell you that awful story.”

  Marius’s face had gone dark, as though the mere mention of this disaster was evocative of terrible pain.

  And Thorne understood something suddenly. It was that Marius wanted to tell this story. Marius needed to speak in a long flow of words as much as Thorne needed to hear words. Marius and Thorne had come upon each other in the proper moment.

  But that would be tomorrow night. This night was ended.

  Marius drew himself up and went on with his reassurance.

  “The light won’t come as you know, and no one will trouble you here. Sleep and dream as you must. And we’ll talk on the morrow. Now let me take my leave. Daniel, my friend, is young. He falls on the floor by his little empire. I have to make him retire to a comfortable place, though I wonder sometimes if it matters.”

  “Will you tell me one thing before you go?” asked Thorne.

  “If I can,” said Marius gently, though suddenly he looked overwhelmingly hesitant. He looked as though he contained heavy secrets which he must tell and yet he feared to do it.

  “The blood drinker who walked on the seashore,” said Thorne, “looking at the pretty shells one by one, what became of her?”

  Marius was relieved. He gave Thorne a long look and then in careful words he answered.

  “They said that she gave herself up to the sun. She was not so old. They found her one evening in the moonlight. She’d drawn a great circle around herself of shells so they knew that her death was deliberate. There were only
ashes there, and in fact, some had already been scattered by the wind. Those who loved her stood nearby and they watched as the wind took the rest. It was all finished by morning.”

  “Ah, what a dreadful thing,” said Thorne. “Had she no pleasure in being one of us?”

  Marius seemed struck by Thorne’s words. Gently he asked:

  “Do you take any pleasure in being one of us?”

  “I think … I think I do again,” said Thorne hesitantly.

  4

  He was awakened by the good smell of an oak fire. He turned over in the soft bed, not knowing where he was for the moment, but completely unafraid. He expected the ice and the loneliness. But he was someplace good, and someone was waiting for him. He had only to climb to his feet, to go up the steps.

  Quite suddenly it all came clear. He was with Marius, his strange and hospitable friend. They were in a new city of promise and beauty built upon the ruins of the old. And good talk awaited him.

  He stood up, stretching his limbs in the easy warmth of the room, and looked about himself, realizing that the illumination came from two old oil lamps, made of glass. How safe it seemed here. How pretty the painted wood of the walls.

  There was a clean linen shirt for him on the chair. He put it on, having much difficulty with the tiny buttons. His pants were fine as they were. He wore woolen stockings but no shoes. The floors were smooth and polished and warm.

  He let his tread announce him as he went up the stairs. It seemed very much the proper thing to do in this house, to let Marius know that he was coming, and not to be accused of boldness or stealth.

  As he came to the door to the chamber where Daniel made his wondrous cities and towns, he paused, and very reticently glanced inside to see the boyish blond-haired Daniel at his work as though he had never retired for the day at all. Daniel looked up, and quite unexpectedly, gave Thorne an open smile as he greeted him.

  “Thorne, our guest,” he said. It had a faint tone of mockery, but Thorne sensed it was a weaker emotion.

  “Daniel, my friend,” said Thorne, glancing again over the tiny mountains and valleys, over the fast-running little trains with their lighted windows, over the thick forest of trees which seemed Daniel’s present obsession.

  Daniel turned his eyes back to his work as though they hadn’t spoken. It was green paint now that he dabbed onto the small tree.

  Quietly, Thorne moved to go but as he did so, Daniel spoke:

  “Marius says it’s a craft, not an art that I do.” He held up the tiny tree.

  Thorne didn’t know what to say.

  “I make the mountains with my own hands,” said Daniel. “Marius says I should make the houses as well.”

  Again Thorne found himself unable to answer.

  Daniel went on talking.

  “I like the houses that come in the packages. It’s difficult to assemble them, even for me. Besides, I would never think of so many different types of houses. I don’t know why Marius has to say such disparaging things.”

  Thorne was perplexed. Finally he said simply,

  “I have no answer.”

  Daniel went quiet.

  Thorne waited for a respectful interval and then he went into the great room.

  The fire was going on a blackened hearth within a rectangle of heavy stones, and Marius was seated beside it, slumped in his large leather chair, rather in the posture of a boy than a man, beckoning for Thorne to take his place on a big leather couch opposite.

  “Sit there if you will, or here if you prefer,” said Marius kindly. “If you mind the fire, I’ll damp it down.”

  “And why would I mind it, friend?” asked Thorne, as he seated himself. The cushions were thick and soft.

  As his eyes moved over the room, he saw that almost all the wood paneling was painted in gold or blue, and there were carvings on the ceiling beams above, and on the beams over the doorways. These carvings reminded him of his own times. But it was all new—as Marius had said, it was made by a modern man, this place, but it was made well and with much thought and care to it.

  “Sometimes blood drinkers fear the fire,” said Marius, looking at the flames, his serene white face full of light and shadow. “One never knows. I’ve always liked it, though once I suffered dreadfully on account of it, but then you know that story.”

  “I don’t think I do know it,” said Thorne. “No, I’ve never heard it. If you want to tell it, I want to hear.”

  “But first there are some questions you want answered,” said Marius. “You want to know if the things you saw with the Mind Gift were entirely real.”

  “Yes,” said Thorne. He remembered the net, the points of light, the Sacred Core. He thought of the Evil Queen. What had shaped his vision of her? It had been the thoughts of the blood drinkers who had gathered around her council table.

  He realized he was looking directly into Marius’s eyes, and that Marius knew his thoughts completely.

  Marius looked away, and into the fire, and then he said offhandedly:

  “Put your feet up on the table. All that matters here is comfort.”

  Marius did this with his own feet, and Thorne stretched his legs out, crossing his feet at his ankles.

  “Talk as you please,” said Marius. “Tell me what you know, if you wish; tell me what you would know.” There seemed a touch of anger in his voice but it wasn’t anger for Thorne. “I have no secrets,” Marius said. He studied Thorne’s face thoughtfully, and then he continued: “There are the others—the ones you saw at that council table, and even more, scattered to the ends of the world.”

  He gave a little sigh and then a shake of his head, then he went on speaking.

  “But I’m too alone now. I want to be with those I love but I cannot.” He looked at the fire. “I come together with them for a short while and then I go away …

  “… I took Daniel with me because he needed me. I took Daniel because it’s unendurable to me to be utterly alone. I sought the North countries because I was tired of the beautiful South lands, even tired of Italy where I was born. I used to think no mortal nor blood drinker could ever grow tired of bountiful Italy, but now I’m tired, and want to look on the pure whiteness of snow.”

  “I understand,” said Thorne. The silence invited him to continue. “After I was made a blood drinker,” he said, “I was taken South and it seemed Valhalla. In Rome I lived in a palace and looked out on the seven hills each night. It was a dream of soft breezes and fruit trees. I sat in a window high above the sea and watched it strike the rocks. I went down to the sea, and the sea was warm.”

  Marius smiled a truly kind and trusting smile. He nodded. “Italy, my Italy,” he said softly.

  Thorne thought the expression on his face was truly wondrous, and he wanted Marius to keep the smile but very quickly it was gone.

  Marius had become sober and was looking into the flames again as though lost in his own sadness. In the light of the fire, his hair was almost entirely white.

  “Talk to me, Marius,” said Thorne. “My questions can wait. I want the sound of your voice. I want your words.” He hesitated. “I know you have much to tell.”

  Marius looked at him as if startled, and warmed somewhat by this. Then he spoke.

  “I’m old, my friend,” he said. “I’m a true Child of the Millennia. It was in the years of Caesar Augustus that I became a blood drinker. It was a Druid priest who brought me to this peculiar death, a creature named Mael, mortal when he wronged me, but a blood drinker soon after, and one who still lives though he tried not long ago to sacrifice his life in a new religious fervor. What a fool.

  “Time has made us companions more than once. How perfectly odd. It’s a lie that I hold him high in my affections. My life is full of such lies. I don’t know that I’ve ever forgiven him for what he did—taking me prisoner, dragging me out of my mortal life to a distant grove in Gaul, where an ancient blood drinker, badly burnt, yet still imagining himself to be a god of the Sacred Grove, gave me the Dark Blood.”<
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  Marius stopped. “Do you follow my meaning?”

  “Yes,” said Thorne. “I remember those groves and the whispers among us of gods who had lived in them. You are saying that a blood drinker lived within the Sacred Oak.”

  Marius nodded. He went on.

  “ ‘Go to Egypt,’ he charged me, this badly burnt god, this wounded god, ‘and find the Mother. Find the reason for the terrible fire that has come from her, burning us far and wide.’ ”

  “And this Mother,” said Thorne. “She was the Evil Queen who carried within her the Sacred Core.”

  “Yes,” said Marius, his steady blue eyes passing over Thorne gently. “She was the Evil Queen, friend, no doubt of it …

  “… But in that time, two thousand years ago, she was silent and still and seemed the most desperate of victims. Four thousand years old they were, the pair of them—she and her consort Enkil. And she did possess the Sacred Core, there was no doubt of it, for the terrible fire had come to all blood drinkers on the morning when an exhausted elder blood drinker had abandoned the King and Queen to the bright desert sun.

  “Blood drinkers all over the world—gods, creatures of the night, lamias, whatever they called themselves—had suffered agony, some obliterated by terrible flames, others merely darkened and left with a meager pain. The very oldest suffered little, the youngest were ashes.

  “As for the Sacred Parents—that is the kind thing to call them, I suppose—what had they done when the sun rose? Nothing. The Elder, severely burnt for all his efforts to make them wake or speak or run for shelter, found them as he had left them, unmovable, heedless, and so, fearing more suffering for himself he had returned them to a darkened chamber, which was no more than a miserable underground prison cell.”

  Marius stopped. He paused so completely it seemed that the memories were too hurtful to him. He was watching the flames as men do, and the flames did their reliable and eternal dance.

  “Please tell me,” said Thorne. “You found her, this Queen, you looked upon her with your own eyes that long ago?”

  “Yes, I found her,” Marius said softly. His voice was serious but not bitter. “I became her keeper. ‘Take us out of Egypt, Marius,’ that is what she said to me with the silent voice—what you call the Mind Gift, Thorne—never moving her lips.