by Rice, Anne
Both were richly dressed, and their swords and daggers were encrusted with jewels. Their cloaks were fixed at the shoulder with rich clasps and even their sandals were ornamented. They might have been preparing to join the opulently clad citizens of the new capital, Constantinople, where great dreams were still being realized though Constantine was now dead.
It was with mixed feelings that I gestured for them to sit down.
However much I wished that I had allowed Mael to perish, I was drawn to Avicus—to his keen expression and the friendly way in which he regarded me. I had time to observe now that his skin was a lighter brown than it had been, and that its dark tone gave a rather sculpted quality to his strong features, especially his mouth. As for his eyes they were clear and held no cunning or lie.
Both remained standing. They looked anxiously in the direction of the mortal banquet room. Once again, I urged them to be seated.
Mael stood, quite literally looking down his hawk nose at me, but Avicus took the chair.
Mael was still weak and his body emaciated. Quite obviously, it would take many nights of drinking from his victims before the damage done him would be completely healed.
“How have things been with you?” I asked, out of courtesy.
And then out of private desperation I let my mind envision Pandora. I let my mind completely recall her in all her splendid details. I hoped thereby to send the message of her to both of them, so that she, wherever she was, might receive this message somehow, a message which I, on account of the blood I had given her in her making, could not send on my own.
I don’t know that either received any impression of my lost love.
Avicus answered my question politely but Mael said not one word.
“Things are better for us,” said Avicus. “Mael heals well.”
“I want to tell you certain things,” I commenced without asking whether or not they wanted such knowledge. “I don’t believe from what happened that either of you know your own strength. I know from my own experience that power increases with age, as I am now more agile and strong than I was when I was made. You too are quite strong, and this incident with the drunken mortals need not have ever taken place. You could have gone up the wall when you were surrounded.”
“Oh, leave off with this!” said Mael suddenly.
I was aghast at this rudeness. I merely shrugged.
“I saw things,” said Mael in a small hard voice, as though the confidential manner of it would make his words all the more important. “I saw things when I drank from you which you could not prevent me from seeing. I saw a Queen upon a throne.”
I sighed.
His tone was not as venomous as it had been before. He wanted the truth and knew he could not get it by hostile means.
As for me I was so fearful that I dared not move or speak. Naturally I was defeated by this news from him, dreadfully defeated, and I didn’t know what chance I had of preventing everything from becoming known. I stared at my paintings. I wished I had painted a better garden. I might have mentally transported myself into a garden. Vaguely I came to thinking, But you have a beautiful garden right outside through the doors.
“Will you not tell me what you found in Egypt?” Mael asked. “I know that you went there. I know that the God of the Grove wanted to send you there. Will you not have that much mercy as to tell me what you found?”
“And why would I have mercy?” I asked politely. “Even if I had found miracles or mysteries in Egypt. Why would I tell you? You won’t even be seated under my roof like a proper guest. What is there between us? Hatred and miracles?” I stopped. I had become too heated. It was anger. It was weakness. You know my theme.
At this, he took a chair beside Avicus and he stared before him as he had done on that night when he told me how he’d been made.
I saw now as I looked at him more closely that his throat was still bruised from his ordeal. As for his shoulder, his cloak covered it but I imagined it to be the same.
My eyes moved to Avicus and I was surprised to see his eyebrows knit in a strange little frown.
Suddenly he looked to Mael and he spoke.
“The fact is, Marius can’t tell us what he discovered,” he said, his voice calm. “And we mustn’t ask him again. Marius bears some terrible burden. Marius has a secret which has to do with all of us and how long we can endure.”
I was dreadfully aggrieved. I’d failed to keep my mind veiled and they had discovered all but everything. I had little hope of preventing their penetration into the sanctum itself.
I didn’t know precisely what to do. I couldn’t even consider things in their presence. It was too dangerous. Yes, dangerous as it was, I had an impulse to tell them all.
Mael was alarmed and excited by what Avicus had said.
“Are you certain of this?” he asked Avicus.
“Yes,” Avicus answered. “Over the years my mind had grown stronger. Prompted by what I’ve seen of Marius, I’ve tested my powers. I can penetrate Marius’s thoughts even when I don’t want to do it. And on the night when Marius came to help us, as Marius sat beside you, as he watched you heal from your wounds as you drank from me, Marius thought of many mysteries and secrets, and though I gave you blood, I read Marius’s mind.”
I was too saddened by this to respond to anything said by either of them. My eyes drifted to the garden outside. I listened for the sound of the fountain. Then I sat back in my chair and looked at the various scrolls of my journal which lay about helter-skelter on my desk for anyone to pillage and read. Oh, but you’ve written everything in code, I thought. And then again, a clever blood drinker might decipher it. What does it all matter now?
Suddenly I felt a strong impulse to try to reason with Mael.
Once again I saw the weakness of anger. I had to put aside anger and contempt and plead with him to understand.
“This is so,” I said. “In Egypt, I did find things. But you must believe me that nothing I found matters. If there is a Queen, a Mother as you call her, and mind you, I don’t say she exists, imagine for the moment that she is ancient and unresponsive and can give nothing to her children any longer, that so many centuries have passed since our dim beginnings that no one with any reason understands them, and the matter is left quite literally buried for it matters not one jot.”
I had admitted far more than I intended, and I looked from one to the other of them for understanding and acceptance of what I’d said.
Mael wore the astonished expression of an innocent. But the look on the face of Avicus was something else.
He studied me as if he wanted desperately to tell me many things. Indeed his eyes spoke in silence though his mind gave me nothing and then he said,
“Long centuries ago, before I was sent to Britain to take up my time in the oak as the god, I was brought before her. You remember I told you this.”
“Yes,” I said.
“I saw her!” He paused. It seemed quite painful for him to relive this moment. “I was humiliated before her, made to kneel, made to recite my vows. I remember hating those around me. As for her, I thought she was a statue, but now I understand the strange words that they spoke. And then when the Magic Blood was given me, I surrendered to the miracle. I kissed her feet.”
“Why have you never told me this!” begged Mael. He seemed more injured and confounded than angry or outraged.
“I told you part of it,” said Avicus. “It’s only now that I see it all. My existence was wretched, don’t you understand?” He looked to me and then to Mael, and his tone became a little more reasonable and soft. “Mael, don’t you see?” he asked. “Marius is trying to tell you. This path in the past is a path of pain!”
“But who is she and what is she?” Mael demanded.
In that fatal instant my mind was decided. Anger did move me and perhaps in the wrong way.
“She is the first of us,” I said in quiet fury. “That is the old tale. She and her consort or King, they are the Divine Parents. There’s
no more to it than that.”
“And you saw them,” Mael said, as if nothing could make him pause in his relentless questioning.
“They exist; they are safe,” I said. “Listen to what Avicus tells you. What was Avicus told?”
Avicus was desperately trying to remember. He was searching so far back that he was discovering his own age. At last he spoke in the same respectful and polite voice as before.
“Both of them contain the seed from which we all spring!” he answered. “They cannot be destroyed on that account for if they were, we would die with them. Ah, don’t you see?” He looked at Mael. “I know now the cause of the Terrible Fire. Someone seeking to destroy us burnt them or placed them in the sun.”
I was utterly defeated. He had revealed one of the most precious secrets. Would he know the other? I sat in sullen silence.
He rose from the chair and began to walk about the room, incensed by his memories.
“How long did they remain in the fire? Or was it only one day’s passage in the desert sand?” He turned to me. “They were white as marble when I saw them. ‘This is the Divine Mother,’ they said to me. My lips touched her foot. The priest pressed his heel to the back of my neck. When the Terrible Fire came I had been so long in the oak I remembered nothing. I had deliberately slain my memory. I had slain all sense of time. I lived for the monthly blood sacrifice and the yearly Sanhaim. I starved and dreamed as I’d been commanded to do. My life was in rising at Sanhaim to judge the wicked, to look into the hearts of those who were accused and pronounce on their guilt or innocence.
“But now I remember. I remember the sight of them—the Mother and the Father—for I saw both of them before they pressed my lips to her feet. How cold she was. How awful it was. And I was unwilling. I was so filled with anger and fear. And it was a brave man’s fear.”
I winced at his last words. I knew what he meant. What must a brave general feel when he knows the battle has gone against him and nothing remains but death?
Mael looked up at Avicus with a face full of sorrow and sympathy.
But Avicus was not finished. On he went with his walking, seeing nothing before him but memory, his thick black hair falling forward as he dipped his head under the weight of memories he bore.
His black eyes were lustrous in the light of the many lamps. But his expression was his finest feature.
“Was it the sun, or was it a Terrible Fire?” he asked. “Did someone try to burn them? Did someone believe such a thing could be done? Oh, it’s so simple. I should have remembered. But memory is desperate to leave us. Memory knows that we cannot endure its company. Memory would reduce us to fools. Ah, listen to old mortals when they have nothing but memories of childhood. How they go on mistaking those around them for persons long dead, and no one listens. How often I have eavesdropped on them in their misery. How often I have wondered at their long uninterrupted conversations with ghosts in empty rooms.”
Still I said nothing.
But he looked at me at last, and asked me:
“You saw them, the King and Queen. You know where they are?”
I waited a long moment before answering. I spoke simply when I answered.
“I saw them, yes. And you must trust me that they are safe. And that you don’t want to know where they are.” I studied both of them. “If you were to know, then perhaps some night other blood drinkers could take you prisoner and wring the truth from you, and they might strive to claim the King and Queen.”
Mael studied me for a long while before he responded. “We fight others who attempt to take Rome from us. You know we’ve done this. We force them to leave.”
“I know you do,” I said. “But the Christian vampires continue to come, and they come in numbers, and those numbers grow larger all the time. They are devoted to their Devil, their Serpent, their Satan. They will come again. There will be more and more.”
“They mean nothing to us,” said Mael disgustedly. “Why would they want this Holy Pair?”
For a moment I said nothing. Then the truth broke from me hatefully, as though I couldn’t protect them from it, nor protect myself.
“All right,” I said. “Since you know so much, both of you, let me explain the following: many blood drinkers want the Mother and the Father. There are those who come from the Far East who know of them. They want the Primal Blood. They believe in its strength. It’s stronger than any other blood. But the Mother and Father can move to defend themselves. Yet still thieves will always be in search of them, ready to destroy whoever keeps them in hiding. And such thieves have in the past come to me.”
Neither of them spoke. I went on.
“You do not want, either of you,” I said, “to know anything further of the Mother and the Father. You do not want rogues to come upon you and try to overpower you for your knowledge. You do not want secrets which can be ripped from your heart.”
I glared at Mael as I said these last words. Then I spoke again.
“To know of the Mother and the Father is a curse.”
A silence fell, but I could see that Mael would not allow for it to be very long. A light came into his face, and he said to me in a trembling voice:
“Have you drunk this Primal Blood?” Slowly he became incensed. “You have drunk this blood, haven’t you?”
“Quiet, Mael,” said Avicus. But it was no use.
“You have drunk it,” said Mael in fury. “And you know where the Mother and Father are concealed.”
He rose from the chair and rushed at me, and suddenly clamped his hands on my shoulders.
Now, I am by nature not given to physical combat, but in a rage I pushed him off me with such force that he was thrown across the floor and back against the wall.
“How dare you?” I asked fiercely. I struggled to keep my voice low so as not to alarm the mortals in the banquet room. “I ought to kill you. What peace of mind it would give me to know you were dead. I could cut you into pieces that no sorcerer could reassemble. Damn you.”
I was trembling with this uncharacteristic and humiliating rage.
He gazed at me, his mind unchanged, his will only slightly chastened and then he said with extraordinary fervor:
“You have the Mother and the Father. You have drunk the Mother’s blood. I see it in you. You cannot hide it from me. How will you ever hide it from anyone else?”
I rose from my chair.
“Then you must die,” I said, “isn’t that so? For you know, and you must never tell anyone else.” I made to advance on him.
But Avicus who had been staring at all this in shock and horror rose quickly and came between us. As for Mael, he had drawn his dagger. And he seemed quite ready for the brawl.
“No, Marius, please,” said Avicus, “we must make peace with each other, we cannot keep up this struggle. Don’t fight with Mael. What could be the outcome, but two wounded creatures hating each other even more than now?”
Mael was on his feet. He held his dagger ready. He looked clumsy. I don’t think he knew weapons. As for his supernatural powers, I didn’t think either of them understood fully what they might do. All this, of course, was defensive calculation. I didn’t want this battle any more than Avicus wanted it, yet I looked to Avicus now and said coldly:
“I can kill him. Stay out of the way.”
“But that is the point,” said Avicus, “I cannot do this, and so you will be fighting the two of us, and such a fight you can’t win.”
I stared at him for a long moment during which words failed me completely. I looked to Mael with his uplifted dagger. And then in a moment of utter despair I went to my desk and sat down and rested my head on my elbows.
I thought of the night in the far city of Antioch when Pandora and I had slaughtered that bunch of Christian vampires who had come so foolishly into our house talking about Moses in the desert lifting the Serpent, and secrets from Egypt, and all such seemingly marvelous things. I thought of all that blood and the burning afterwards.
And
I thought also how these two creatures, though we didn’t speak or see each other, had been my only companions all these years in Rome. I thought of everything perhaps that mattered. My mind sought to organize itself round Mael and Avicus, and I looked up from one to the other, and then out to the garden again.
“I’m ready to fight you,” said Mael with his characteristic impatience.
“And what will you achieve? You think you can cut out the secret of the Mother and the Father from my heart?”
Avicus came to my desk. He sat down in the nearest chair before me and looked to me as if he were my client or friend.
“Marius, they are close to Rome. I know it. I have known it for a long time. Many a night you have gone out into the hills to visit some strange and lonely place, and with the Mind Gift I have followed you, wondering what could take you to such a distant spot. I believe now that you go to visit the Mother and the Father. I believe you took them out of Egypt. You can trust me with your secret. You can also trust me with your silence if you wish.”
“No,” said Mael, coming forward immediately. “Speak, or I’ll destroy you, Marius, and Avicus and I will go to the very spot and see the Mother and Father for ourselves.”
“Never,” said Avicus, becoming for the first time angry. He shook his head. “Not without Marius. You’re being foolish,” he said to Mael.
“They can defend themselves,” I said coldly. “I’ve warned you. I’ve witnessed it. They may allow you to drink the Divine Blood. They may refuse you. If they refuse, you will be destroyed.” I paused for emphasis then went on.
“Once a strong god from the East came into my house in Antioch,” I said. “He forced his way into the presence of the Mother and the Father. He sought to drink from the Mother. And when he made to sink his fangs into her neck, she crushed his head, and sent the lamps of the room to burn his flailing body till there was nothing left. I don’t lie to you about these things.” I gave a great sigh. I was tired of my own anger. “Having told you that, I’ll take you there if you wish.”
“But you have drunk her blood,” said Mael.