Vincent bent over and caught your gaze while a language I soon identified as yours flowed from his mouth as if he always spoke it. To my surprise, your expression turned from scared and suspicious to calm and trusting, and you left your hiding place to go and sit on one of the chairs by the fireplace. Vincent's magical power is immense; I could almost feel it like a warm and reassuring current that made me feel good too.
You know the rest. He succeeded in unblocking your mind just enough to give you back the ability to understand us and to be understood, even if I was sorry when he had to torment you in order to learn the identity of your captors. We had already realized that they were not the lycans. Vincent is obsessed and sees them as the cause of all evil to us vampires, forgetting how much the humans can be just as lethal to our species.
I cannot describe the gratitude I felt for him at that moment, but Vincent knows, he can read me like an open book. And, that’s because he's my father, not just a vampire.
Here you are, Raistan, this is my contribution to your story. I know you will want to question me again when you will talk about the other two occasions when your life was in danger, one of which is in the very recent past.
I'll do it for you even though remembering those terrible moments is something that I'd rather avoid for the rest of my life. I hope there won't be others, so please be careful in the future. I can't always be at your beck and call, you're 300 years old, try to get wise, stop doing the Raistan! And be careful with your new lover, the doctor you speak of with such ardor. Humans are always a source of trouble as you ought to know. I send you a kiss and remember: tha gaol agam ort, don't pretend you don't know what it means.
Yours forever, Shibeen.
Agam ort-fhèin, mijn kind, is it satisfactory like this?
15 - HEALING
Sleep and nourishment, nourishment and sleep. It seemed like I did nothing but in the weeks following.
The food came in the form of bottles filled with blood drawn from who knows whom, sometimes drawn from Shibeen's or even from her brothers' neck. They didn't look so happy, but lent themselves to the cause to please her. When they thought that I had enough, they would push me away, deaf to my protests and left the room chuckling.
They had started to call me "damhàn" a Gaelic word that I didn't know. Every time I asked for an explanation, they burst out laughing and exchanged big slaps on the back. I questioned Shibeen and saw her compress her lips in anger, but maybe also for the urge to laugh in turn.
"Why are you asking me?"
"Your brothers called me it..."
"Damn... can you excuse me for a moment?"
She left the room like a rocket.
After a few seconds, I heard her screaming at somebody, but she was talking in her language so I didn't understand the reason of her rage. I also heard laughter and jokes from her brothers and a lot of confusion, as if they were running up and down the stairs. I started to suspect it wasn't a very nice nickname. But, it was only after much insistence that Shibeen revealed to me it meant "spider". They were referring to my long and skeletal limbs. Who could blame them? I looked at myself in the mirror every day hoping to see an improvement, but my recovery was slow and difficult. The worst thing was the skin on my face, my hands, and the upper part of my chest where the light and fire had raged with great brutality. Compared to the early day, it was becoming lighter, I didn't look like I was covered in soot like before, but it was rough, engraved with deep scars, like rivers on a map. My body was getting stronger, but the overall effect was like a big spider dressed in eighteenth century clothing. I still couldn't keep myself fully erect: it was as if the muscles in my back were shortened. This caused me great fatigue and diffused pain that I could endure only by lying down.
Then there were the days in which I regressed, frightening Shibeen to death. She would come into my room and find me curled up in an armchair, my knees close to my chest, rocking back and forth, mumbling words in my native tongue, even unaware of her presence in the room. I didn't feel these crises coming, I wouldn't have even realized that I was having them if she didn’t tell me. Thinking back to it, I guess they coincided with moments of extreme weakness or of particular suffering as my body was trying to go back to its original condition. She used to persuade me to lie with her on the bed and to drink some of her blood. After that, my eyes lost their veil of unreality and I acted as if I had just woken up from a long sleep. Shibeen came to hate the Dutch language, associating it with my illness. She often yelled at me if I let some words escape in that language. I tried to explain to her that using it relaxed me, I didn't need to focus or to think as I had to with English, not to mention the French that I had almost completely forgotten. But she didn't listen to reason, thus, Dutch was banned.
The only term she tolerated was "mijn kind", meaning "my little one", what I used to call her sometimes when I was spontaneous.
Recovering my memory, on the other hand, was happening much faster. I acquired some new particulars every day, if not whole chunks of my past life, especially when I fed from her or from her brothers. Gradually, I was able to reconstruct the complicated sentiments that bound us and to which recent events gave new life.
"How are you doing, Damhàn? Get dressed, we're going to train a little bit."
That's the way Seamus put it one night, coming into my room followed by his throng of brothers. I was worried about the amused grin on the other four’s faces, but I was also bored to death and that unexpected setback got me curious.
"What kind of training?" I asked.
"Vampire training, man. You're slower than the slowest of humans. Shibeen just pampers and protects you; you're turning into a human pussy."
"Fuck you, Cinàed."
"Seamus. I'm Seamus, remember? The kindest one. Come on. Move. Your body is turning to mush like your brain..."
At the bottom of the stairs we met Shibeen who asked where we were going, looking at her brothers suspiciously one by one.
"Vampire school, little sister. The damhàn here must learn everything all over again and since you're not teaching him..."
“Are you up to it, Raist?" she asked in a very maternal way. After that, she'd have advised me not to sweat or to wear my wool sweater.
"Of course. Why don't you come and see how I'm going to settle these goons?"
"Uhhhh, we're trembling with fear! Yes, Shibeen, come with us so you can pick up his pieces with a spoon when we're done with him."
I gave him my two fingers opened in a V - incredible how old certain gestures are - and followed them to the stables where I found my Coal already saddled; I mounted for the first time after a year with some apprehension and with considerable effort. I needed to toughen up for sure.
We rode beyond the city walls, in the open country, and the brothers chose a clearing in the middle of the woods, expansive but sheltered from prying eyes. They lit some torches and hung them on the trees at the four polar ends of the area; Shibeen had taken a blanket and spread it on the grass, settling in with a book on her lap and mumbling haughtily toward what she defined as "silly male activities practiced solely to prove who's got the biggest penis."
"He's already lost, then!" decreed Faithleann, pointing his finger at me and sparking laughter from his brothers.
Fortunately, I've always had self-deprecating humor; otherwise, I'd have killed them within two days. Their favorite pastime, especially after I got back, seemed to be making fun of me. This didn't seem to end even when I was appointed Supreme General, although the opportunities to meet were much less frequent. It could happen that I would enter Shibeen's room with my cohort of armed guards, Vincent style, parading before the servants who bowed as I passed and that a voice from above announced: "Shibeen, you're going to have fun tonight, your personal big Dutch dick has just arrived!" ruining all the effect. I thank the heavens for this: they brought my feet back on the ground immediately.
My escort never understood why I didn't ship them to jail and throw away the keys
, but they were my contact with the reality that I sometimes forgot. And, I needed them to remind me of who I was.
That night, a beautiful summer evening with crickets chirping in the grass, the rebirth of my body started. First, they challenged me to a running race and it was pathetic. They outdistanced me over a hundred yards, even Aoidhgheann - hope I spelled it correctly - who, if it was under normal conditions, I wouldn't have even considered. He was just sixteen when he was transformed; he shouldn’t have been able to compete with a man in his late twenties, whose most lethal weapon had always been his speed. That night, like in many others, he trashed me, crossing the finish line hopping, all cocky, and was inundated by the slaps on the back from his brothers who had never had so much fun.
"You really suck, damhàn!" they shouted at me as I limped towards them under Shibeen's furious and worried gaze. She was approving less and less those challenges.
"What?" they asked her with candor, noting her murderous glare. "We're just giving some constructive criticism!"
I, too, was furious. My legs looked like marble, I had completely lost my burst of speed, plus my back hurt and, something unthinkable for a vampire, I was panting, out of breath, like a fucking human. When I crossed the finish line, I wasn't in the mood for jokes and they had no opportunity to stop me or to keep me there with them to feel sorry for myself. They involved me in a carousel of exercises including jumping, climbing trees, chasing, even wrestling - the meaty bit of any training session - until I fell to the ground begging for mercy, every single muscle of my poor body screaming in protest, provoking another series of taunts on me. The way back home even seemed like a torture to me. My back, my damn back wasn't willing to stretch and was driving me crazy. I didn't utter a single complaint, but I had to have looked frightening for sure since nobody dared to make any more jokes.
"Hey, Raistan, are you okay?" Seamus asked me once back in the stable. I was nearly grinding my teeth in pain and it took me some time to respond. I didn't want something to show through my voice which, however, came out a little shaky.
"Yes, I am. I... thank you. For tonight, I mean."
Pat on my back. A groan escaped this time.
"Goodnight then. We're doing it again tomorrow. Do you need some help rubbing Coal down?"
"No, thanks, I can do it. See you tomorrow."
I waited for him to come out of the stable to shrivel up on the ground. It seemed like a thousand burning knives were piercing my back all at once.
Shibeen arrived at that very moment and exploded in one of her memorable bilingual outbursts, railing against her brothers and against me too, forbidding me to subject myself again to a similar tour de force. For the moment, I thought it wise not to contradict her and let her accompany me to my room where she helped me to undress, tearing my clothes off me. Then, she gave me a huge bottle full of blood and forced me to drain it to the last drop.
"I want to go hunting again, Shibeen," I told her.
"You will when you're ready. Do you want something to go wrong and find yourself surrounded by a gang of enraged humans?"
Something similar happened to her brother Kilyan and he never came back.
She laid me down on the bed and massaged my back until I felt better, then she said good night and left me alone to sleep. We had slept together a few times since I had come back, but we never had sex. As long as I wasn’t able to look at myself in the mirror without shivering in disgust, I couldn’t have permitted it. At the moment, my skin was much clearer and more uniform and the scars less noticeable, but my body was still a disaster, so thin and lanky. I could count every single rib, my knees protruded sharply like nails, and I had very frightening dark circles under the eyes: I was really grotesque.
From that night on, the training sessions occurred on a regular basis despite my maker's protests and threats. By the end of that summer, I regularly defeated Faithleann and Aoidh in running; by early November, I had left even Aichlinn and Seamus behind too. In order to beat Cinàed, I had to wait for the New Year, January 10, 1717. I remember it well. It was a very cold night and the ground was frozen, but we were all shirtless, like white flashes of lighting on the edge of the forest. We arranged ourselves on the start line with our eyes focused on the finish line, about 550 yards ahead. Shibeen was back with us. Since she had realized that the training helped me seriously, she often accompanied us and sometimes she even competed with us: she was a very tough opponent not to be underestimated.
It was she who gave the start signal. I sprang forward, tasting the power that had perfected throughout those months. I took everyone by surprise but I was soon joined by Cinàed, unwilling to yield his lead easily to me. We carried on a frantic head-to-head for the entire middle phase, occasionally giving each other glances of defiance, until I had the feeling of being able to push some more. The muscles of my legs were... singing. That's what I thought while passing him and crossing the finish line, clinging to a tree in order to slow down. I leaped on a branch and jumped down on the other side with a somersault, all within a few tenths of a second. Then I bent with my hands on my knees and, before I could even realize what was going on, before I could even think to control myself, I was crying, my shoulders shaken by powerful sobs. Shibeen and her brothers caught up with me. I feared that I would have been destroyed by their torments, but nobody uttered a single sarcastic word about it. She hugged me from behind leaning her head against my back and held me until I was able to control myself again. I got up again, embarrassed, wiping my face streaked with blood without the courage to meet anyone's eyes.
"Good running, damhàn!" Cinàed’s smack could knock over an oak tree.
"I'm not that spiderish anymore..."
“What does it matter? We used to call you that among us when we went to the Hammerfall. You looked like a spider weaving its web around its prey. Lately, just a pair of eyes and some legs were missing and you would be perfect!"
That night was even more memorable because two things happened that proclaimed my complete healing: I hunted again, enjoying every second of it, and I paid a visit to Shibeen in her bed, making up for lost time with great joy for the both of us.
"I told you that you would come back as perfect as before!" she said in high spirits. It wasn't true, not completely at least - and, then again, I've never been perfect - but the reflection in the mirror was less and less cruel for each day that passed. My back was straight again, my legs and arms had regained their muscles, and the skin didn't resemble that of a turtle anymore, even if the now bleached and smoothed scars did not entirely disappear. The old Raistan was back and he was ready to claim his revenge. We never forget, you know. I certainly don't, that’s for sure. I can wait months, even years, to cash in against those who offended me, but you can rest assured that one day I'll knock on his door and won't be bearing good news.
The following evening I went out alone for the first time.
Shibeen and her brothers wanted to come with me, at least to enjoy the show, but I begged them not to. It was a matter between me and the three humans who had almost killed me. I remembered everything: their faces, their voices, the place where everything had taken place, even the damp smell of the cellar where they had locked me in. When I arrived in front of the building, around midnight, I dismounted and looked around. I needed to match up the images my mind had retained with the new details my eyes were witnessing. I immediately noticed a detail that worried me: instead of the tiny pretty red door that I remembered, another one loomed, now much more massive, double doors, guarded by a thug whom I couldn’t identify as neither Pierre, the kicker, nor as Jean Claude. The purpose of keeping a low profile for my punitive raid suffered a significant snag.
I crossed the street lowering my cocked hat over my eyes. I was wearing a wig too, a nondescript grey, curly wig to hide my too flashy hair. My clothes told of a wealthy, young man in the mood for a few hours of fun. I raised the collar of my cloak, drooped my shoulders a little, and put on a nice idiotic smile on my fa
ce.
"Good evening," I said as I got in front of the beast. My desire to rip his throat off was almost irresistible, but my goal was to go inside not to create confusion out there. Madame Lescaut and her lackeys weren't supposed to see me coming, as I wanted the surprise for them to be complete.
"Yeah?" snarled the guy, eyeing me down.
"Is this the fabulous Madame Lescaut's House, where it is well known that you can find the most beautiful girls in Paris, ja? I have just arrived from my country, Germany, and I feel very lonely. Do you think it's possible to have some company? Ja?" Acting like a rich German simpleton was very amusing and helped me to ease the tension. Shibeen's brothers would have keeled over with laughter, as it happened later when I replayed the scene for them for their own benefit. More than that, my French was so awkward that I couldn't in no way hide being a foreigner, and it was hardly wise to put them on alert talking about the Netherlands.
After a second grunt and an evil glance, the gorilla stepped aside and opened one of the doors, inviting me in with an abrupt gesture of his hand.
"Ohhh, danke, danke, have a good evening!" I tweeted, slipping inside. Things had not changed much from the last time I was there: same red tapestry with patterned peacock tails, same sofas, same statues with scantily dressed women on pedestals, same desk. Above all, same woman sitting back there, just a little fatter. Her almond shaped eyes, heavily made up, almost disappeared when she smiled, suffocated by her cheeks.
"Good eeeeeeeeevening, monsieur, what can I do for you?" she asked with her sugary and shrilly voice. "We have beautiful new girls, really delightful... and even wonderful boys, some inexperienced ones too if you prefer. Come, please, follow me, they're waiting for you in the next room."
"Ach, wunderbar! Wonderful!" I exclaimed, feeling more and more eager to jump at her throat. Hearing her voice again, enduring her false and vile manner made me feel sick. As she preceded to show me the way, I realized I was clenching my fists so tight that I etched grooves into my palms with my nails so I forced myself to calm down. I could have attacked her at that very moment and just get it over with, then wait for her accomplices to show up, but I wanted her to feel scared and to pay for everything that she made me endure.
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