by Anne Rice
"You told me you had heard that I was here," I said, prompting him. "Who told you?"
"Oh, it was a fool of a blood drinker," he said with a shudder. "A maniacal Satan worshiper. His name was Santino. Will they never die out? It was in Rome. He urged me to join him, can you imagine?"
"Why didn't you destroy him?" I asked dejectedly. How grim was all this, how distant from the boys at their supper, from the teachers speaking of the day's lessons, from the light and music to which I longed to return. "In the old times when you encountered them, you always destroyed them. What stopped you now? "
He shrugged his shoulders. "What do I care what happens in Rome? I didn't stay one night in Rome."
I shook my head. "How did this creature discover I was in Venice? I've never heard a whisper of our kind here."
"I'm here," he answered sharply, "and you didn't hear me, did you? You're not infallible, Marius. You have about you many worldly distractions. Perhaps you don't listen as you should."
"Yes, you're right, but I wonder. How did he know?"
"Mortals come to your house. Mortals speak of you. Possibly those mortals go on to Rome. Don't all roads lead to Rome?" He was mocking me naturally. But he was being rather gentle, almost friendly. "He wants your secret, Marius, that Roman blood drinker. How he begged me to explain the mystery of Those Who Must Be Kept."
"And you didn't reveal it, did you, Mael?" I demanded. I began to hate him again, hotly, as I had in nights past.
"No, I didn't reveal it," he said calmly, "but I did laugh at him, and I didn't deny it. Perhaps I should have, but the older I get the harder it is to lie on any account."
"That I understand rather well," I said.
"Do you? With all these beautiful mortal children around you? You must lie with every breath you take, Marius. And as for your paintings, how dare you display your works amongst mortals who have but brief lifetimes with which to challenge you? It seems, a terrible lie, that, if you ask me."
I sighed.
He tore open the front of his jerkin and then took it off.
"Why do I accept your hospitality?" he asked. "I don't know the answer. Perhaps I feel that having helped yourself to so many mortal delights, you owe some help to another blood drinker who is lost in time as always, wandering from country to country, marveling sometimes and at others merely getting dust in his eyes."
"Tell yourself anything you like," I said. "You are welcome to the clothes and to shelter. But tell me at once. What's happened to Avicus and Zenobia? Do they travel with you? Do you know where they are?"
"I have no idea where they are," he said, "and surely you sensed it before you asked- It has been so long since I saw either of them that I cannot reckon the years or the centuries. It was Avicus who put her up to it, and off they went together. They left me in Constantinople, and I can't say that it came to me as a dreadful surprise. There had been terrible coldness between us before the parting. Avicus loved her. She loved him more than me. That was all that was required."
"I'm sad to hear it."
"Why?" he asked. "You left the three of us. And you left her with us, that was the worst of it. We were two for so long, and then you forced Zenobia into our company."
"For the love of Hell, stop blaming me for everything," I said under my breath. "Will you never cease with your accusations? Am I the author of every evil that ever befell you, Mael? What must I do to be absolved so that there might be silence? It was you, Mael, you," I whispered, "who took me from my mortal life by force and brought me, shackled and helpless, into your accursed Druid grove!"
The anger spilled from me as I struggled to keep rny voice down.
He seemed quite amazed by it.
"And sp you do despise me, Marius," he said, smiling. "I had thought you far too clever for such a simple feeling- Yes, I took you prisoner, and you took the secrets, and I've been cursed one way or the other, ever since."
I had to step back from this. I did not want it. I stood calmly until the anger left me. Let the truth be damned.
For some reason this brought out the kindness in him. As he removed his rags, arid kicked them away, he spoke of Avicus and Zenobia.
"The two of them were always slipping into the Emperor's palace where they would hunt the shadows," he said. "Zenobia seldom dressed as a boy as you taught her. She was too fond of sumptuous clothes, You should have seen the gowns she wore. And her hair, I think I loved it more than she did."
"I don't know if that's possible," I said softly. I saw the vision of her in his mind, and confused it with the vision of her in my own.
"Avicus continued to be the student," he said with slight contempt. "He mastered Greek. He read everything he could find. You were always his inspiration. He imitated you. He bought books without knowing what they were. On and on, he read." "Maybe he did know," I suggested. ''Who can say?" "I can say," Mael answered. f'I've known you both, and he was an idiot gathering poetry and history for nothing. He wasn't even looking for something. He embraced words and phrases on account of how they felt."
"And where and how did you spend your hours, Mael?" I asked, my voice far more cold than I had hoped.
"I hunted the dark hills beyond the city," he responded. "I hunted the soldiery. I hunted for the brutal Evil Doer, as you know. I was the vagabond, and they were dressed as though they were part of the Imperial Court."
"Did they ever make another?" I asked. "No!" he said, scoffing. "Who would do such a thing?" I didn't answer.
"And you, did you ever make another? " I asked. "No," he responded. He frowned- "How would I find someone strong enough?" he asked. He seemed puzzled. "How would I know that a human had the endurance for the Blood?" "And so you move through the world alone." "I'll find another blood drinker to be a companion," he said. "Didn't I find that cursed Santino in Rome? Maybe I'll lure one from among the Satan worshipers. They can't all like a miserable life in the catacombs, wearing black robes and singing Latin hymns."
I nodded. I could see now that he was ready for the bath. I didn't want to keep him any longer. When I spoke it was in a genial manner.
"The house is enormous as you see," I said. "There is a locked room on the first floor to the far right side. It has no windows. You may sleep there by day if you like."
He gave a low contemptuous laugh. "The clothes are quite enough, my friend, and perhaps just a few hours during which I might rest."
"I don't mind. Stay here, out of sight of the others. See the bath there. Use it. I'll come for you when all the boys are asleep."
When next I saw him it was all too soon.
He came out of the bedroom and into the large salon in which I stood relinquishing my hold on Riccardo and Amadeo with the strong admonition that they could go to Bianca's for the evening and nowhere else.
Amadeo saw him. Again, for several fatal moments, Amadeo saw him. And I knew that something deep inside Amadeo recognized Mael for the creature that he was. But like so many things in the mind of Amadeo, it wasn't conscious, and the boys left me with quick kisses, off to sing their songs to Bianca, and be flattered by everyone there.
I was impatient with Mael that he had come out of the bedchamber, but I didn't say it.
"So you would make a blood drinker of that one," he said, pointing to die door through which the boys had left us. He smiled.
I was in a silent fury. I glared at him, as always in such situations, quite unable to speak.
He stood there smiling at me in sinister fashion arid then he said,
"Marius of the many names and the many houses and the many lifetimes. So you have choseri a lovely chilfL"
I shook it off. How had he read from my mind my desire for Amadeo?
"You've grown careless," he said softly. "Listen to me, Marius. I don't speak to insult you. YOU walk with a heavy step among mortals,. And that boy is very young."
"Don't speak another word to me," I answered, pulling hard on my anger to rein it in.
"Forgive me," he said,. "I only spok
e my mind."
"I know you did, but I don't want to hear any more."
I looked him over. He was rather handsome in his new attire, though a few little details were absurdly crooked and not tucked properly, but I was not the one to make them right. He struck me as not only barbaric, but comical. But I knew that anyone else would think him an impressive man.
I hated him, but not completely. And as I stood there with him, I almost gave way to tears. Quite suddenly, to stem this emotion, I spoke.
" What have you learnt in all this time?" I asked.
"That's an arrogant question!" he said in a low voice. "What have you learnt?"
I told him my theories, about how the West had risen again, once more drawing upon the old classics which Rome had taken from Greece. I spoke of how the art of the old Empire was recreated now throughout Italy and I spoke of the fine cities of the North of Europe, prosperous as those of the South. And then I explained how it seemed to me that the Eastern Empire had fallen to Islam and was no more. The Greek world had been irrevocably lost.
"We have the West again, don't you see?" I asked.
He looked at me as though I were perfectly mad.
"Well? "I responded.
There came a slight change in his face.
"Witness in the Blood," he said, repeating the words I'd spoken earlier, "watcher of the years."
He put his arms forward as though to embrace me. His eyes were clear and I could sense no malice at all.
"You've given me courage," he said.
"For what, may I ask?" I responded.
"To continue my wandering," he said. He let his arms slowly drop.
I nodded. What more was there for us to say?
"You have all you need?" I asked. "I have plenty of Venetian or Florentine coin. You know that wealth is nothing to me. I'm happy to share what I have."
"It's nothing to me either," he said. "I shall get what I need from my next victim, and his blood and wealth will carry me to one after that."
"So be it," I said, which meant that I wanted him to leave me, But even as he realized it, as he turned to go, I reached out and took him by the arm. "Forgive me that I was cold to you," I said. "We've been companions in time."
It was a strong embrace.
And I walked with him down to the front entrance where the torches shone too brightly on us for my taste, and saw him virtually disappear into the dark.
In a matter of seconds, I could hear no more of him. I gave silent thanks.
I reflected. How I hated Mael. How I feared him. Yet I had loved him once, loved him when we'd been mortals even, and I'd been his prisoner and he had been the Druid priest teaching me the hymns of the Faithful of the Forest, for what purpose, I didn't know.
And I had loved him on that long voyage to Constantinople, surely, and in that city when I'd given over Zenobia to him and Avicus, wishing them all well.
But I did not want him near me now! I wanted my house, my children, Arnadeo, Bianca. I wanted my Venice. I wanted my mortal world.
How I would not risk my mortal home even for a few hours longer with him. How I wanted so to keep my secrets from him.
But here I was standing in the torchlight, distracted, and something was amiss.
Vincenzo wasn't very far away, and I turned and called to him.
"I'm going away for a few nights," I told him. "You know what to do. I'll be back soon enough." "Yes, Master," he said.
And I was able to assure myself that he'd sensed nothing strange in Mael whatsoever. He was as always ready to do my will.
But then he pointed his finger.
"There, Master, Amadeo, he's waiting to talk to you," I was astonished.
On the far side of the canal, Amadeo stood in a gondola, watching me, waiting, and surely he'd seen me with Mael. Why had I not heard him? Mael was right. I was careless. I was all top softened by human emotions. I was too greedy for love.
Amadeo told his oarsman to bring him alongside the house.
"And why didn't you go with Riccardo?" I demanded. "I expected to find you at Bianca's. You must do as I say."
Quite suddenly Vincenzo was gone, and Amadeo had stepped up onto the quais, and he had his arms around rne, pressing my hard unyielding body with all his strength.
"Where are you going?" he demanded in a rushed whisper. "Why do you leave me again?"
"I must leave," I said, "but it's only for a few nights. You know that I must leave. I have solemn obligations elsewhere, and don't I always return?"
"Master, that one, the one who came, the one who just left you—."
"Don't ask me," I said sternly. How I had dreaded this. "I'll come back to you within a few nights."
"Take me with you," Amadeo begged.
The words struck me. I felt something within loosened.
"That I cannot do," I answered. And out of my mouth there came words I thought I'd never speak. "I go to Those Who Must Be Kept," I said as if I couldn't hold the secret within me. "To see if they are at peace. I do as I have always done."
What a look of wonder came over his face.
"Those Who Must Be Kept," he whispered. He said it like a prayer.
I shivered.
I felt a great release. And it seemed that in the wake of Mael I had drawn Amadeo closer to me. I had taken another fatal step.
The torchlight tormented me.
''Come inside," I said. And into the shadowy entranceway we stepped together. Vmcenzo, never very far off, took his leave.
I bent to kiss Amadeo, and the heat of his body inflamed me.
"Master, give me the Blood," he whispered in my ear. "Master, tell me what you are."
"What I am, child? Sometimes I think I know not. And sometimes I think I know only too well. Study in my absence. Waste nothing. And I'll be back to you before you know the hour. And then we'll speak of Blood Kisses and secrets and meantime tell no one that you belong to me."
"Have I ever told anyone, Master?" he responded. He kissed my cheek. He placed his warm hand on my cheek as if he would know how inhuman I was.
I closed my lips over his. I let a small stream of blood pour into him. I felt him shudder.
I drew back from him. He was limp in my arms.
I called for Vincenzo and I gave Amadeo over to him, and off I went into the night.
I left the splendid city of Venice with her glistering palaces, and I withdrew to the chilly mountain sanctuary, and I knew that the fate of Amadeo was sealed.
20
HOW LONG I WAS with Those Who Must Be Kept, I don't know. A week, perhaps more. I came into the shrine, confessing my astonishment that I had confided the mere phrase "Those Who Must Be Kept" to a mortal boy. I confided again that I wanted him, I wanted him to share my loneliness.
I wanted him to share all that I could teach and give.
Oh, the pain of it! All that I could teach and give!
What was this to the Immortal Parents? Nothing. And as I trimmed the wicks of the lamps, as I filled them with oil, as I let the light grow bright around the eternally silent Egyptian figures, I knew the same penance I had always known.
Twice with a gust of the Fire Gift, I lighted the long bank of one hundred tall candles. Twice I let it burn down.
But as I prayed, as I dreamt, one clear conclusion did come to me. I wanted this mortal companion precisely because I had put myself into the mortal world.
Had I never stepped into Botticelli's workshop this mad loneliness would not have come over me. It was mixed up with my love of all the arts, but most particularly painting, and my desire to be close to those mortals who nourished themselves gracefully upon the creations of this period as I fed upon blood.
I also confessed that my education of Amadeo was almost complete.
On waking I listened with the powerful Mind Gift to the movements and thoughts of Amadeo who was no more than a few hundred miles away. He was obedient to my instructions. In the night hours he kept to his books, and did not go to Bianca. Indeed he kept t
o my bedchamber, for he no longer knew simple camaraderie with the other boys.
What could I give this child that would prompt him to leave me?
What could I give him to more purely train him to be the companion I wanted with all my soul?
Both questions tormented me.
At last a plan came to me—one last trial must be passed by him, and should he fail it, I would commit him with irresistible wealth and position to the mortal world. How that might be done, I did not know, but it did not strike me as a difficult thing.
I meant to reveal to him the manner in which I fed.
Of course this was a lie, this question of a trial; for once he had beheld me in the act of feeding, in the act of murder, how then could he pass unscathed into a productive mortality, no matter how great his education, his refinements and his wealth?
No sooner had I put that question to myself than I remembered my exquisite Bianca, who remained quite steadily at the helm of her ship in spite of the poisonous cups she had passed.
All this, evil and cunning, made up the substance of my prayers. Was I asking permission of Akasha and Enkil to make this child a blood drinker? Was I asking permission to admit Amadeo to the secrets of this ancient and unchangeable shrine?
If I did ask, there came no answer.
Akasha gave me only her effortless serenity, and Enkil his majesty. The only sound came from my movements as I rose from my knees, as I laid my kisses at the feet of Akasha, as I withdrew and closed behind me the immense door, and bolted it shut.
There was wind and snow in the mountains on that evening. It was bitter and white and pure.
I was glad to be home in Venice within minutes, though my beloved city was also cold.
No sooner did I reach my bedchamber than Amadeo came into my arms.
I covered his head with kisses and then his warm mouth, taking the breath from him, and then with the smallest bite, giving him the Blood.
"Would you be what I am, Amadeo?" I asked. "Would you be changeless forever? Would you live a secret for eternity?"