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

by Rice, Anne

  “Oh, yes, you are so right,” I said. I was almost weeping. I thought in my secret heart of Botticelli, the man himself standing in his studio staring at me, wondering helplessly what sort of strange patron I was, and never dreaming that my hunger and adoration were commingled, never dreaming of a danger which had come so close.

  “It’s almost dawn,” she said. “I feel cold now. And nothing matters. Do you feel the same way?”

  “Soon we will leave here,” I said in answer, “and we will have golden lamps around us. And a hundred fine candles. Yes, one hundred white candles. And we’ll be warm where there is snow.”

  “Ah, my love,” she said softly. “I believe in you with my soul.”

  The next night we hunted once more and this time as if it were to be our last in Venice. There seemed no end to the blood I could imbibe.

  And without confiding it to Bianca, I was eternally listening for Santino’s brigands, quite certain that at any moment they might return.

  Long after I had brought her back for safekeeping in the golden room, and seen her nestled there amid her bundles of clothes and soft burning candles, I went out to hunt again, moving swiftly over the rooftops, and catching the worst and strongest of the killers of the city.

  I wondered that my hunger did not bring some reign of peace to Venice, so savage was I in cleaning out those bent upon evil. And when I was done with blood I went to the secret places in my burnt-out palazzo and gathered the gold which others hadn’t been able to find.

  Finally, I went to the very highest roof that I could discover and I looked out over Venice, and I said my farewell to it. My heart was broken and I did not know what would restore it.

  My Perfect Time had ended for me in agony. It had ended for Amadeo in disaster. And perhaps it had ended for my fair Bianca as well.

  At last I knew from my gaunt and blackened limbs—so little healed by so many kills—that I must press on to Those Who Must Be Kept, and I must share the secret with Bianca, for young as she was, I had no real choice.

  It faintly excited me in my crushing misery that I could share the secret at last. Oh, what a terrible thing it was to put such a weight upon such tender shoulders, but I was weary of the pain and the loneliness. I had been conquered. And I only wanted to reach the shrine with Bianca in my arms.

  27

  At last it was time for the journey. It was far too dangerous for us to remain in Venice, and I knew that I could carry us to the shrine.

  Taking one bundle of clothing with us, and as much of my gold as I could carry, I wrapped Bianca tightly against me and in less than half of one night, crossed the mountains, in bitter winds and snow.

  By now Bianca was accustomed to certain wonders, and to be set down in a snow-filled mountain pass did not alarm her.

  But within moments we were both painfully aware that I had made a desperate error in judgment. I was not strong enough in my present state to open the door of the shrine.

  It was I, of course, who had created this ironbound stone door to block any human assault, and after several pathetic attempts to open it, I had to confess that it was not within my power, and we must find some other shelter before dawn.

  Bianca began to weep, and I became angry with her. I made another assault upon the door just to spite her, and then stood back and bid the door open with all the power of my mind.

  There was no result, and the wind and the snow beat down hard against us, and Bianca’s weeping infuriated me to where I spoke words that weren’t true.

  “I made this door and I shall open it,” I declared. “Only give me time to determine what I must do.”

  She turned away from me, visibly hurt by my anger, and then in a miserable yet humble voice she asked me,

  “What is inside this place? I can hear a dreadful sound from beyond the door, all too like the sound of a heartbeat. Why have we come here? Where shall we go if we cannot find shelter here?”

  All of these questions angered me, but when I looked at Bianca, when I saw her sitting on the rock where I had placed her, the snow falling on her head and shoulders, her head bowed, her tears glistening and red as always, I felt ashamed that I had so used her in my weakness and that I needed so to be angry with her now.

  “Be still and I shall open it,” I said to her. “You have no knowledge of what lies within. But you will in time.”

  I gave a great sigh and stood back from the door, my burnt hand still tightened on the iron handle and with all my strength I pulled, but I could not make the door budge.

  The absolute folly of it gripped me. I could gain no admittance! I was too weak, and for how long I would be too weak I didn’t know. And yet I made one attempt after another, only so that Bianca would believe that I could protect her, that I could gain entry to this strange place.

  Finally I turned my back on the Holy of Holies, and I went to her, and gathered her to me, and covered her head and tried to warm her as best I could.

  “Very soon, I shall tell you all,” I said, “and I shall find us shelter this night. Don’t doubt. For now, let me say only that this is a place which I built and which is known to me only and which I’m too weak now to enter as you can see.”

  “Forgive me that I cried,” she said gently. “You won’t see tears from me again. But what is the sound I hear? Can’t humans hear it?”

  “No, they cannot,” I answered. “Please be still for now, my brave darling.”

  But at that moment, that very single moment, another new and altogether different sound caught my ear, a sound which could have been heard by anyone.

  It was the sound of the stone door opening behind me. I knew the sound infallibly and I turned around, unbelieving and as fearful as I was amazed.

  Quickly I gathered Bianca to me, and we stood before the door as it opened wide.

  My heart was racing. I could hardly fill my lungs with air.

  I knew that only Akasha could have done this, and as the door fell all the way back, I perceived another miracle of equal kindness and beauty of which I’d never dreamt.

  A rich and abundant light poured forth from the door of the stone passage.

  For a moment I was too stunned to move. Then pure happiness descended upon me as I gazed upon this flood of beautiful light. And it seemed I could not possibly fear it or doubt its meaning.

  “Come now, Bianca,” I said to her, as I guided her forward at my side.

  She clutched her bundle to her chest as though she would die if she let go of it, and I held her as though without her to witness with me I would fall.

  We stepped into the stone passage and made our way slowly into the bright and flickering light of the chapel. All its many bronze lamps were aglow. Its one hundred candles blazed exquisitely. And no sooner had I taken note of these things, amid a subdued glory that filled me with joy, than the stone door was closed behind us with a crushing sound as rock sounded against rock.

  I found myself staring over the row of one hundred candles up into the faces of the Divine Mother and Father, seeing them as perhaps Bianca would see them, and certainly with refreshed and grateful eyes.

  I knelt down, and Bianca knelt at my side. I was trembling. Indeed my shock was so great that I could not for a moment fill my lungs with air. There was no way that I could explain to Bianca the full import of what had taken place. I would only frighten her if I tried to do so. And careless words spoken before my Queen would be unforgivable.

  “Don’t speak,” I finally said in a whisper. “They are our Parents. They have opened the door, when I could not. They have lighted the lamps for us. They have lighted the candles. You cannot imagine the worth of this blessing. They have welcomed us inside. We can answer them only with prayers.”

  Bianca nodded. Her face was full of piety and wonder. Did it matter to Akasha that I had brought to her feet an exquisite blood drinker?

  In a low reverent voice I recounted the story of the Divine Parents but only in the simplest and grandest terms. I told Bianca how they had
come to be the very first blood drinkers thousands of years ago in Egypt, and that now they no longer hungered for blood or even so much as spoke or moved. I was their keeper and their guardian and had been so for all of my life as a blood drinker and so it would always be.

  I said these things so that nothing would alarm Bianca and she would feel no dread of the two still figures who stared forward in horrifying silence, and did not seem even to blink. And so it was that tender Bianca was initiated into these powerful mysteries with great care and thought them beautiful and nothing more.

  “It was to this chapel,” I explained, “that I would come when I left Venice, and I would light the lamps for the King and the Queen, and bring fresh flowers. You see, there are none now. But I will bring them when I can.”

  Once again, I realized that in spite of my enthusiasm and gratitude, I couldn’t really make her know what a miracle it was that Akasha had opened the door for us, or lighted the lamps. Indeed, I didn’t dare to do it, and now that I had finished this respectful recital, I closed my eyes, and in silence I thanked both Akasha and Enkil that they had admitted me to the sanctuary, and that they had greeted us with the gift of light.

  Over and over I offered my prayers, perhaps unable myself to grasp the fact that they had so welcomed me, and not too certain of what it really meant. Was I loved? Was I needed? It seemed I must accept without presumption. It seemed I must be grateful without imagining things that weren’t so.

  I knelt in quietude for a long time and Bianca must surely have observed me for she too was quiet, and then I could bear the thirst no longer. I stared at Akasha. I desired the Blood. I could think of nothing but the Blood. All my injuries were as so many open wounds in me. And my wounds bled for the Blood. I had to attempt to take the all-powerful Blood from the Queen.

  “My beauty,” I said, placing my gloved hand on Bianca’s tender arm. “I want you to go to the corner there and to sit quiet, and to say nothing of what you see.”

  “But what will happen?” she whispered. For the first time she sounded afraid. She looked about herself at the shivering flames of the lamps, at the glowing candles, at the painted walls.

  “Do as I tell you,” I said. I had to say it, and she had to do it, for how was I ever to know whether the Queen would let me drink?

  As soon as Bianca was in the corner with her heavy cloak wrapped around her and as far away as possible, for whatever good it would do, I prayed in silence for the Blood.

  “You see me and what I am,” I said silently, “you know that I have been burnt. This is why you opened the door for me and admitted me, because I could not do it, and surely you see what a monster I have become. Have mercy on me and let me drink from you as you have done in the past. I need the Blood. I need it more than I have ever needed it. And so I come to you with respect.”

  I removed my leather mask and laid it aside. I was as hideous now as those old burnt gods whom Akasha had once crushed when they came to her. Would she refuse me in the same manner? Or had she known all along what had befallen me? Had she understood completely all things before the door was ever opened?

  I rose slowly until I knelt at her feet and I could put my hand upon her throat, all the while tensed for the threat of Enkil’s arm, but it did not come.

  I kissed her throat, feeling her plaited hair against me and looking at her white skin before me, and hearing only Bianca’s soft tears.

  “Don’t cry, Bianca,” I whispered.

  Then I sank my teeth suddenly, viciously, as I had so often done, and the thick blood flooded into me, brilliant and hot as the lamplight and the light of the candles, pouring into me as if her heart were pumping it willingly into me, racing the beat of my own heart. My head grew light. My body grew light.

  Far away Bianca wept. Why was she afraid?

  I saw the garden. I saw the garden I had painted after I had fallen in love with Botticelli, and it was filled with his orange trees and with his flowers and yet it was my garden, the garden of my father’s house outside Rome long long ago. How could I ever forget my own garden? How could I ever forget the garden where I had first played as a child?

  In memory I went back to those days in Rome when I had been mortal, and there was my garden, the garden of the villa of my father, and I was walking in the soft grass and listening to the sound of the fountain, and then it seemed that all through time, the garden changed but never changed, and it was always there for me.

  I lay down on the grass, and the branches of the trees moved above me. I heard a voice speaking to me, rapidly and sweetly, but I didn’t know what it was saying, and then I knew that Amadeo was hurt, that he was in the hands of those who would bring pain and evil to him, and that I could not go to him now, I would only stumble into their snares if I did, and that I must stay here.

  I was the Keeper of the King and the Queen as I had told Bianca, yes, the Keeper of the King and the Queen, and I must let Amadeo go in Time, and perhaps were I to do as I should, perhaps Pandora would be returned to me, Pandora who traveled the northern cities of Europe now, Pandora who had been seen.

  The garden was verdant and fragrant and I saw Pandora clearly. I saw her in her soft white dress, her hair loose as I had described it to Bianca. Pandora smiled. She walked towards me. She spoke to me. The Queen wants us to be together, she said. Her eyes were large and wondering and I knew she was very close to me, very close, so close that I could almost touch her hand.

  I can’t be imagining this, no, I cannot, I thought. And there came back to me again vividly the sound of Pandora’s voice, as she quarreled with me on our first night as bride and groom: Even as this new blood races through me still, eats at me and transforms me, I cling to neither reason nor superstition for my safety. I can walk through a myth and out of it! You fear me, because you don’t know what I am. I look like a woman, I sound like a man, and your reason tells you the sum total is impossible.

  I was looking into Pandora’s eyes. She sat on the garden bench, pulling the flower petals out of her brown hair, a girl again in the Blood, a woman-girl forever, as Bianca would be a young woman forever.

  I reached out on either side of me and felt the grass beneath my hands.

  Suddenly I fell backwards, out of the dream garden, out of the illusion and found myself lying quite still on the floor of the chapel, between the high bank of perfect candles, and the steps of the dais where the enthroned couple kept their ancient place.

  Nothing seemed changed about me. Even Bianca’s crying came as before.

  “Be quiet now, darling,” I said to her. But my eyes were fastened to the face of Akasha above me, and to her breasts beneath the golden silk of her Egyptian dress.

  It seemed that Pandora had been with me, that she had been in the very chapel. And the beauty of Pandora seemed bound up with the beauty and presence of Akasha in some intimate way which I could not understand.

  “What are these portents?” I whispered. I sat up and then rose to my knees. “Tell me, my beloved Queen. What are these portents? Did you once bring Pandora to me because you wanted us to be together? Do you remember when Pandora spoke those words to me?”

  I fell silent. But my mind spoke to Akasha. My mind pleaded with her. Where is Pandora? Will you bring Pandora to me again?

  A long interval passed and then I rose to my feet.

  I went round the bank of candles and found my precious companion quite distraught over the simple wonder she had beheld of me drinking from the immobile Queen.

  “And then you fell back, as though you were lifeless,” she recounted. “And I didn’t dare to go to you, as you’d said that I mustn’t move.”

  I comforted her.

  “And then finally you waked, and you spoke of Pandora, and I saw that you were so … so much healed.”

  This was true. I was more robust all over, my arms and legs thicker, heavier, and my face had more of its natural contour. Indeed, I was still badly burnt, but a man of some stature and seeming strength now, and indeed I could
feel more of the old strength in my limbs.

  But it was now only two hours from dawn, and being quite unable to open the door, and not in any mood to pray that Akasha work common miracles for anyone, I knew I had to give my blood to Bianca, and so this is what I did.

  Would it offend the Queen, that I, having just drunk from her would offer this powerful blood to a child? There was nothing to do but find out.

  I didn’t frighten Bianca with any warnings or doubts on the matter. I beckoned to her that she should come to me and lie in my arms.

  I cut my wrist for her and told her to drink. I heard her gasp with the shock of the powerful blood and her delicate fingers stiffened to make her two hands into claws.

  At last of her own volition she drew back and sat up slowly beside me, her eyes vague and full of reflected light.

  I kissed her forehead.

  “What did you see in the Blood, my beauty?” I asked.

  She shook her head as though she had no words for it, and then she laid her head on my chest.

  There was only serenity and peace in the chapel, and as we lay down to sleep together, the lamps slowly burnt out.

  At last the candles were down to a few, and I could feel the dawn coming, and the chapel was warm as I had promised, and glittering with its riches, but above all with its solemn King and Queen.

  Bianca had lost consciousness. I had perhaps three quarters of an hour before the day’s slumber would come for me as well.

  I looked up at Akasha, delighting in the last shimmer of the dying candles in her eyes.

  “You know what a liar I am, don’t you?” I asked her. “You know how wicked I have been. And you play my game with me, don’t you, my Sovereign?”

  Did I hear laughter?

  Maybe I was going mad. There had been enough pain for it and enough magic; there had been enough hunger, and enough blood.

  I looked down at Bianca who rested so trustingly on my arm.

  “I have planted in her mind the image of Pandora, haven’t I?” I whispered, “so that wherever she goes with me she will search. And from her angel mind, Pandora cannot fail to pluck my image. And so we may find each other, Pandora and I, through her. She doesn’t dream of what I’ve done. She thinks only to comfort me with her listening, and I, though loving her, take her North with me, into the lands where Raymond Gallant has told me that Pandora was last seen.