by Rice, Anne
This is why I had a bed for you when you came here. That is why I had clothes.
“Sit down,” I said to them, “there’s nothing here that can’t be cleaned or thrown away. I insist that you be comfortable. I wish we had some gesture that I might give, equal to that which mortals make when they offer guests a cup of wine.”
The larger taller man was the first to be seated in a chair, rather than a couch. Then I followed taking a chair as well, and bidding Mael please to be seated to my right.
I could see now quite clearly that the bigger blood drinker possessed infinitely more power than Mael. Indeed he was much older. He was older than me. That was why he had healed after the Terrible Fire, though that had been two hundred years ago, I had to admit. But I sensed no menace from this creature, and then quite unexpectedly, indeed, silently, he gave me his name.
“Avicus.”
Mael gazed at me with the most venomous expression. He did not sit back as he might have done, but kept himself bitterly erect and ready as if for a brawl.
I sought to read his mind but this was useless.
As for me, I considered myself the consummate master of my hatred and my rage, but when I saw the anxious look on the face of Avicus I thought perhaps I was wrong.
Suddenly, this blood drinker spoke.
“Lay down your hatred, each for the other,” he said in Latin, though he spoke with an accent, “and perhaps a battle of words will put all to right.”
Mael didn’t wait for my agreement to this plan.
“We brought you to the grove,” he told me, “because our god told us we must do this. He was burnt and dying, but he would not tell us why. He wanted you to go to Egypt, but he wouldn’t tell us why. There must be a new god, he said, but he didn’t tell us why.”
“Calm yourself,” said Avicus softly, “so that your words truly speak for your heart.” Even in his rags he looked rather dignified and curious as to what would be said.
Mael gripped the arms of the chair and glared at me, his long blond hair hanging over his face.
“Bring a perfect human for the old god’s magic, we were told. And that our legends told us was true. When an old god is weak there must be a new one. And only a perfect man can be given over to the dying god for his magic in the oak.”
“And so you found a Roman,” I said, “in the prime of life, happy and rich, and dragged him off against his will. Were there no men among you who were fit and right for your own religion? Why come to me with your wretched beliefs?”
Mael wasn’t slowed in the slightest. At once he continued.
“ ‘Bring me one who is fit,’ said the god, ‘one who knows the languages of all kingdoms!’ That was his admonition. Do you know how long we had to search for such a man as you?”
“Am I to feel sorry for you?” I said sharply and foolishly.
He went on.
“We brought you to the oak as we were told to do. Then when you came out of the oak, to preside over our great sacrifice, we saw that you had been made into a gleaming god of shimmering hair and eyes that frightened us.
“And without a word of protest, you raised your arms so that the Great Feast of Sanhaim could begin. You drank the blood of the victims given you. We saw you do it! The magic was restored in you. We felt we would prosper, and it was time to burn the old god as our legends told us we must do.
“It was then that you fled.” He sat back in his chair as though this long speech had taken the strength out of him. “You didn’t return,” he said disgustedly. “You knew our secrets. But you didn’t return.”
A silence fell.
They didn’t know of the Mother and the Father. They knew nothing of the old Egyptian lore. I was too relieved for a long moment to say anything. I felt more calm and controlled than ever. Indeed, it seemed rather absurd that we were having this argument, for as Avicus had said, we were immortal.
But we were human still, each in his own way.
Finally I realized that Mael was looking at me, and his eyes were as charged with rage as before. He looked pale, hungry, wild as I’ve said.
But both of these creatures were waiting upon me to speak or do something, and it did seem the burden lay with me. At last, I made a decision which seemed to me to be its own form of reckoning, and its own form of triumph.
“No, I didn’t come back,” I said to Mael squarely. “I didn’t want to be the God of the Grove. I cared nothing for the Faithful of the Forest. I made my choice to wander through time. I have no belief in your gods or your sacrifices. What did you expect of me?”
“You took the magic of our god with you.”
“I had no choice,” I said. “If I had left the old burnt god without taking his magic, you would have destroyed me, and I didn’t want to die. Why should I have died? Yes, I took the magic that he gave me and yes, I presided over your sacrifices and then I fled as anyone of my nature would do.”
He looked at me for a long time, as if trying to decide whether or not I wanted to quarrel further.
“And what do I see now in you?” I demanded. “Haven’t you fled your Faithful of the Forest? Why do I come upon you in Rome?”
He waited a long moment.
“Our god,” he said, “our old burnt god. He spoke of Egypt. He spoke of our bringing him one who could go down into Egypt. Did you go to Egypt? Did you seek there the Good Mother?”
I cloaked my mind as best I could. I made my face severe, and I tried to figure how much I should confess and why.
“Yes, I went to Egypt,” I said. “I went to find the cause of the fire that had burnt the gods all through the North lands.”
“And what did you find?” he demanded.
I glanced from him to Avicus and I saw that he too waited upon my answer.
“I found nothing,” I responded. “Nothing but burnt ones who pondered the same mystery. The old legend of the Good Mother. Nothing further. It is finished. There is no more to tell.”
Did they believe me? I couldn’t tell. Both seemed to harbor their own secrets, their own choices made long ago.
Avicus looked ever so slightly alarmed for his companion.
Mael looked up slowly and said with anger,
“Oh, that I had never laid eyes upon you. You wicked Roman, you rich Roman with all your splendor and fine words.” He looked about the house, at its wall paintings, at its couches and tables, at the marble floors.
“Why do you say this?” I asked.
I tried not to despise him but to see him, and understand him, but my hatred was too great.
“When I took you prisoner,” he said, “when I sought to teach you our poetry and our songs, do you remember how you tried to bribe me? You spoke of your beautiful villa on the Bay of Naples. You said that you would take me there if only I would help you escape. Do you remember these awful things?”
“Yes, I remember,” I said coldly. “I was your prisoner! You had taken me deep into the forest against my will. What did you expect of me? And had you let me escape, I would have taken you to my house on the Bay of Naples. I would have paid my own ransom. My family would have paid it. Oh, it’s too foolish to speak of these things.”
I shook my head. I grew too agitated. My old loneliness beckoned to me. I wanted silence in these rooms again. What need had I of these two?
But the one called Avicus appealed to me silently with his expression. And I wondered who he might be.
“Please, keep your temper,” said Avicus. “I’m the cause of his suffering.”
“No,” said Mael quickly. He glanced at his companion. “That can’t be.”
“Oh, but it is,” declared Avicus, “and always has been, ever since I gave you the Dark Blood. Gain the strength either to remain with me or to leave me. Things cannot remain as they are.”
He reached out and put his hand on his companion’s arm.
“You’ve found this strange being, Marius,” he said, “and you’ve told Marius of the last years of your strong belief. You’ve reli
ved that awful misery. But don’t be so foolish as to hate him for what happened. He was right to seek his freedom. As for us, the old faith died. The Terrible Fire destroyed it, and nothing more could be done.”
Mael looked as dejected as any creature I’ve ever seen.
Meantime my heart was fast catching up with my mind. I was thinking: Here are two immortals but we cannot solace one another; we cannot have friendship. We can only part after bitter words. And then I’ll be alone again. I’ll be proud Marius who left Pandora. I shall have my beautiful house and all my fine possessions to myself.
I realized Avicus was staring at me, trying to probe my mind, but failing though his Mind Gift was quite terrifically strong.
“Why do you live as vagabonds?” I asked.
“We don’t know how to live as anything else,” said Avicus. “We’ve never tried. We shy away from mortals, except when we hunt. We fear discovery. We fear fire.”
I nodded.
“What do you seek other than blood?”
A miserable expression passed over his face. He was in pain. He tried to hide it. Or perhaps he tried to make the pain go away.
“I’m not sure that we seek anything,” he said. “We don’t know how.”
“Do you want to stay with me,” I asked, “and learn?”
I felt the boldness, the presumptuousness of this question, but the words had already been said.
“I can show you the Temples of Rome; I can show you the big palaces, the houses that make this villa appear quite humble indeed. I can show you how to play the shadows so that mortals never see you; how to climb walls swiftly and silently; how to walk the roofs at night all over the city, never touching the ground.”
Avicus was amazed. He looked to Mael.
Mael sat slumped, saying nothing.
Then he pulled himself up.
In a weak voice he continued his condemnation.
“I would have been stronger if you hadn’t told me all those marvelous things,” he said, “and now you ask if we want to enjoy the same pleasures, the pleasures of a Roman.”
“It’s what I have to offer,” I said. “Do what you wish.”
Mael shook his head. He began to speak again, for the benefit of whom I don’t know.
“When it was plain that you wouldn’t return,” he said, “they chose me. I was to become the god. But for this to happen we had to find a God of the Grove who had not been burnt to death by the Terrible Fire. After all, we had destroyed our own gentle god foolishly! A creature who had had the magic to make you.”
I gestured as if to say, It was indeed a shame.
“We sent word far and wide,” he said. “At last an answer came from Britain. A god survived there, a god who was most ancient and most strong.”
I looked to Avicus, but there was no change in his expression.
“However we were warned not to go to him. We were told that it was perhaps not something we should do. We were confused by these messages, and at last we set out for we felt that we must try.”
“And how did you feel,” I asked cruelly, “now that you had been chosen, and you knew that you would be shut up in the oak, never to see the sun again, and only to drink blood during the great feasts and during the full moon?”
He looked straight ahead as if he couldn’t give me a decent answer to this, and then he replied.
“You had corrupted me as I told you.”
“Ah,” I said, “so you were afraid. The Faithful of the Forest couldn’t comfort you. And I was to blame.”
“Not afraid,” he said furiously, clenching his teeth. “Corrupted as I said.” He flashed his small deep-set eyes on me. “Do you know what it means to believe absolutely nothing, to have no god, no truth!”
“Yes, of course I know,” I answered. “I believe nothing. I consider it wise. I believed nothing when I was mortal. I believe nothing now.”
I think I saw Avicus flinch.
I might have said more brutal things, but I saw that Mael meant to go on.
Staring forward in the same manner he told his tale:
“We made our journey,” he said. “We crossed the narrow sea to Britain and went North to a land of green woods and there we came upon a band of priests who sang our hymns and knew our poetry and our law. They were Druids as we were Druids, they were the Faithful of the Forest as were we. We fell into each other’s arms.”
Avicus was watching Mael keenly. My eyes were more patient and cold, I was sure. Nevertheless the simple narrative drew me, I have to confess.
“I went into the grove,” said Mael. “How huge the trees were. How ancient. Any one of them might have been the Great Tree. At last I was led to it. And I saw the door with its many iron locks. I knew the god was inside.”
Suddenly Mael glanced anxiously to Avicus, but Avicus gestured for him to go on.
“Tell Marius,” he said gently, “and in telling Marius, you tell me.”
It had such a soft sound to it, this utterance. I felt a shiver on the surface of my skin, my lonely and perfect skin.
“But these priests,” said Mael, “they warned me. “Mael, if there is any lie or imperfection in you, the god will know it. He will merely kill you and you will be a sacrifice and nothing more than that. Think deep because the god sees deep. The god is strong but the god would be feared rather than adored and takes his vengeance, when aroused, with great pleasure.’
“The words shook me. Was I truly prepared for this strange miracle to come upon me?”
He glared savagely at me.
“I thought over everything. Your word pictures came back to me! The beautiful villa on the Bay of Naples. How you had described your rich rooms. How you had described the warm breezes and the sound of the water on the rocky shore. How you had described your gardens. You had spoken of gardens. Ah, could I endure the darkness of the oak, I thought, the drinking of blood, the starvation between sacrifices, for what would this be?”
He paused as if he couldn’t continue. Again he glanced at Avicus.
“Go on,” said Avicus calmly in his deep voice.
Mael continued:
“Then one of these priests accosted me and took me aside and he said, “Mael, this is an angry god. This is a god who begs for blood when he shouldn’t want it. Do you have the strength to present yourself to him?’
“I had no chance to answer him. The sun had just gone down. The grove was full of lighted torches. The Faithful of the Forest had assembled. All my fellow priests who had come with me surrounded me. They were pushing me towards the oak.
“When I reached it, I insisted that they free me. I put my hands upon the bark, and I closed my eyes and in the silent voice, as I had prayed in my home grove, I prayed to this god. I said ‘I am of the Faithful of the Forest. Will you give me the Sacred Blood so that I might return home and do what my people wish me to do?’ ”
Again he stopped speaking. It was as if he was staring at something dreadful that I could not see.
Avicus spoke up again.
“Continue,” he said.
Mael sighed.
“There came a silent laugh from inside the oak, a silent laugh and an angry voice! It went inside my head, and I was shaken by it. And the god said to me, ‘Bring me a blood sacrifice first. Then and only then will I have the strength to make you a god.’ ”
Again Mael broke off. Then, “Surely you know, Marius,” he said, “how gentle our god was. When he made you, when he spoke to you there was nothing of anger or hate in him, but this god was full of wrath.”
I nodded.
“I told the priests what the god had said to me. They drew back in a group, all afraid and disapproving.
“ ‘No,’ they said, ‘he has been asking for blood too much. It is not fitting that he should have it. He is to starve now as always between each full moon and until the yearly rituals so that he comes from the oak thin and ravenous, like the dead fields, ready to drink the blood of sacrifice and become plump with it, like the bounty of th
e coming spring.’
“What was I to say?” asked Mael. “Finally I tried to reason with some of them. ‘To make a god, surely he needs strength,’ I explained. “And he himself is burned from the Terrible Fire, and perhaps the blood helps him and heals him. Why not give him sacrifice? Surely you have a condemned man in one of the villages or settlements who can be brought to the oak?’
“They drew back altogether, and they stared at the tree and its door and its locks. And I realized they were afraid.
“Then a dreadful thing occurred, which changed me utterly. There came from the oak a stream of enmity that I could feel as though someone full of rancor were staring at me!
“I could feel it as though the being looked upon me with all his rage, his sword raised to destroy me. Of course it was the power of the god, using his mind to flood mine with his hatred. But so strong was it that I could not think of what it was, or what to do.
“The other priests ran. They had felt this anger and hatred as well. I couldn’t run. I couldn’t move. I stared at the oak. I think the old magic had caught me. God, poems, songs, sacrifice—those things did not matter to me suddenly. But I knew a powerful creature was inside the oak. And I didn’t run from it. And at that moment my evil plotting soul was born!”
Mael gave another very dramatic sigh. He was silent, his eyes fixed on me.
“How so?” I asked. “What did you plot? You had spoken through the mind with the gentle god of your own grove. You had seen him at the full moon take sacrifice, both before and after the Terrible Fire. You saw me when I was changed. You’ve just said so. What struck you so about this god?”
He looked overwhelmed for a moment.
Finally, gazing ahead of him again as if he had to, he continued.
“This god was more than angry, Marius. This god meant to have his way!”
“Then why weren’t you afraid?”
A silence fell in the room. I was truly a bit perplexed.
I looked at Avicus. I wanted to confirm: Avicus was this god, no? But to ask such a question was crude. It had been said earlier that Avicus gave the Dark Blood to Mael. I waited, as it was proper for me to do.