Bllod and Gold

by Anne Rice

  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 arid 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 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.

  "You are so very rash," I answered. "Don't you see what I'm saying? She may destroy you. I cannot say what she will do. And then there is the question of the King. What is his will? I don't know. I'll take you there, as I've said."

  I could see that Mael wanted to go. Nothing would stop him from this, and as for Avicus, he was very fearful and very ashamed of his own fear.

  "I must go," said Mael. "I was her priest once. I served her god in the oak. I have no choice but to go." His eyes were brilliant with his excitement. "I must see her," he said. "I cannot take your warnings. I must be taken to this place."

  I nodded. I gestured for them to wait. I went to the doors of the banquet room and opened them. My guests were happy. So be it. A couple of them cheered my sudden presence, but quickly forgot me. The drowsy slave poured the fragrant wine.

  I turned and went back to Avicus and Mael.

  We went out into the night, the three of us, and as we made for the shrine, I learnt immediately that neither Mael nor Avicus moved at the speed which their strength allowed. I told them both to walk faster, especially when there were no mortals to watch, and very soon I had them silently exhilarated that they were more in possession of their true gifts.

  When we came to the granite door of the shrine, I showed them how it was quite impossible for a team of mortals to open it and then I lighted the torch and took them down the stone steps.

  "Now, this is Holy Ground," I remarked before opening the bronze doors. "You do not speak irreverently or idly and you don't speak of them as if they cannot hear."

  The two were enthralled.

  I opened the door, lighted the torch within, and then let them enter and stand before the dais. I held the torch high.

  All was perfect as I had assumed it would be. The Queen sat with her hands on her thighs as she always did. Enkil took the same posture. Their faces, framed so beautifully in their black plaited hair, were beautifully empty of thought or woe.

  Who could have known from the sight of them that life pumped inside them?

  "Mother and Father," I said distinctly, "I have brought two visitors who have begged to see you. They are Mael and Avicus. They've come in reverence and respect."

  Mael went down on his knees. He did it as naturally as a Christian. He held out his arms. He began to pray in the language of the Druid priesthood. He told the Queen she was most beautiful. He told tales of the old gods of the oak. And then he begged her for her blood.

  Avicus winced, and I suppose, so did I.

  But I was sure something quickened in Akasha. Then again perhaps not.

  All of us waited in uneasy stillness.


  Mael rose and walked towards the dais.

  "My Queen," I said calmly, "Mael asks with all respect and all humility, if he may drink from the primal fount."

  He stepped up, bent over the Queen lovingly and daringly and bent to drink from her throat.

  It seemed nothing would happen. She would allow it. Her glassy eyes stared forward as if it were of no import. Her hands remained on her thighs.

  But all of sudden, with monstrous speed, the heavy boned Enkil turned sideways, as if he were a wooden machine worked by wheels and cogs, and he reached out with his right hand.

  I sprang forward, threw my arms around Mael and drew him

  backwards just under the descending arm arid all the way to the wall. I flung him into the corner.

  "Stay there!" I whispered.

  I stood up. Enkil remained turned, his eyes empty, as if he could not find the object of his rage, his hand still poised in the air. How many times, when I'd dressed them or cleaned them, had I seen them in the same attitude of sluggish inattention?

  Swallowing my terror, I mounted the dais. I spoke to Enkil coaxingly.

  "My King, please, it's finished," I said. I put my trembling hands on his arm, and I gently returned him to his proper place. His face was hideously blank. Then I put my hands on his shoulders and I turned him until he was staring forward as before. Gently I attended to his heavy golden necklace. I arranged his fingers carefully. I smoothed his heavy kilt.

  As for the Queen she remained undisturbed. It was as if none of it had ever taken place, or so I thought, until I saw the droplets of blood on the shoulder of her linen gown. I should have to change it when I could.

  But this was evidence that she had allowed the kiss, and he had forbidden it. Well, this was most interesting, for I knew now that when I had last drunk from her, it was Enkil who had thrown me back on the chapel floor.

  There was no time to ponder it. I had to get Avicus and Mael away from the shrine.

  Only when we were back within the confines of my brightly lighted study did I turn my fury on Mael.

  "Two times I've saved your miserable life," I said. "And I will suffer for it, I'm sure of that. For by all rights, I should have let you die the night Avicus sought rny help for you, and I should have let the King crush you as he would have done tonight. I despise you, understand it. No end of time will change it. You are rash, willful arid crazed with your own desires."

  Avicus sat with his head down nodding as if to say he agreed.

  As for Mael he stood in the corner, his hand on his dagger, regarding

  me with begrudging silence.

  "Get out of my house," I said finally. "And if you want to end your life, then break the peace of the Mother and the Father. For ancient as they are and silent as they are, they will crush you as you have seen for yourself. You know the location of the shrine."

  "You don't even know the measure of your crime," Mael answered. "To keep such a secret. How could you dare!"

  "Silence, please," said Ayicus.

  "No, I won't keep silent," said Mael. "You, Marius, you steal the Queen of Heaven and you keep her as if she were your own? You lock her up in a painted chapel as if she were a Roman goddess made of wood? How dare you do such a thing?"

  "Fool," I said, "what would you have me do with her! You spit lies at me. What you wanted is what they all want. You wanted her blood. And what would you do now that you know where she is? Do you mean to set her free and for whom and how and when?"

  "Quiet, please," said Avicus again. "Mael, I beg you, let us leave Marius."

  "And the snake worshipers who have heard whispers of me and my secret, what would they do?" I demanded, now quite lost in my fury. "What if they were to gain possession of her and take the blood from her, and make themselves an army stronger than us? How then would the human race rise up against our kind with laws and hunts to abolish us? Oh, you cannot begin to conceive of all the ills that would be loosed upon this world were she known to all our kind, you foolish, mad, self-important dreamer!"

  Avicus stood before me, imploring me with his upraised hands, his face so sad.

  I wouldn't be stopped. I stepped aside and faced the furious Mael.

  "Imagine the one who would put them both in die sun again," I declared, "bringing fire on us like the fire which Avicus suffered before! Would you end your life's journey in such agony and by another's hands?"

  "Please, Marius," said Avicus. "Let me take him away with me. We will go now. I promise you, no more trouble from us."

  I turned my back on them. I could hear Alael leaving, but Avicus lingered. And suddenly I felt his arm enclose me and his lips on my cheek.

  "Go," I said softly, "before your impetuous friend tries to stab me in base jealousy."

  the garden, arid so the house seemed mad with all its lamps and the master filling walls with his illusions, and the guests laughing at him and raising their cups to him, and the music strumming on unto the dawn.

  At first I thought it would be a distraction to have Avicus spying upon me, but I grew used to hearing him slip over the wall and come into the garden. I grew used to the nearness of someone who shared these moments as only he could.

  I continued to paint my goddesses—Venus, Ariadne, Hera—and gradually I grew resigned that the figment of Pandora would dominate everything I did in that particular, but I worked on the gods as well. Apollo, above all, fascinated me. But then I had time to paint other figures of myth, such as Theseus, Aeneas, and Hercules, and sometimes I turned to reading Ovid or Homer or Lucretius directly for inspiration. Other times, I made up my own themes.

  But always the painted gardens were my comfort for I felt I was living in them in my heart.

  Over and over again I covered all the rooms of my house, and as it was built as a villa, not an enclosed house with an atrium, Avicus could wander the garden all around it, seeing all that I did, and I couldn't help but wonder if my work was changed by what he saw.

  What moved me more than anything perhaps was that he lingered so faithfully. And that he was silent with so much respect. Seldom did a week pass that he did not come and stay almost the entire night. Often he was there for four or five nights in a row. And sometimes even longer than that.

  Of course we never spoke to each other. There was an elegance in our silence. And though my slaves once took notice of him and annoyed me with their alarm, I soon put a stop to that.

  On the nights when I went out to Those Who Must Be Kept Avicus didn't follow me. And I must confess that I did feel a sort of freedom when I painted alone in the shrine. But melancholy was also coming down upon rne, harder than ever in the past.

  Finding a spot behind the dais and the Precious Pair, I often sat dejected in the corner, and then slept the day and even the next night without going out. My mind was empty. Consolation was unimaginable. Thoughts of the Empire and what might happen to it were unspeakable.

  And then, I would remember Avicus, and I would rise, shaking off my languor and go back into the city and begin painting the walls of my rooms again.

  How many years passed in this way, I can't calculate.

  It is far more important to note that a band of Satanic blood drinkers again took up their abode in an abandoned catacomb and began to feast upon the innocent which was their custom, being desperately careless so as to scare humans and to cause tales of terror to spread.

  I had hoped that Mael and Avicus would destroy this band, as they were all very weak, and blundering, and it wouldn't have been hard at all.

  But Avicus came to me with the truth of the matter which I should have seen long before.

  "Always these Satan worshipers are young," he said to me, "and never is there one who is more than thirty or forty years from his mortal life. Always from the East they come, speaking of how the Devil is their Ruler and how through serving him, they serve Christ."

  "I know the old story," I said. I was going about my painting, as if Avicus was not standing there, not out of rudeness,
but out of

  weariness with the Satan worshipers, who had cost me Pandora so long ago.

  "But you see, Marius, someone very old must surely be sending these deadly little emissaries to us, and it is this old one whom we must destroy."

  ''And how will you do that?" I asked.

  "We mean to lure him to Rome," said Avicus, "and we've come to ask you to join us. Come down into the catacombs with us tonight and tell these young ones that you are a friend."