The bed on which he lay was a pallet of dried vegetation, perhaps ferns, loosely bound by a length of cloth into a covered mattress. There was a wooden table beside the bed, being a section cut from a huge tree-trunk, on which there stood a stone jug filled with water. Noell yearned to seize the jug, but it was on his right hand side, and he could not make that hand reach out. He had to prop himself up, resting his breast on updrawn knees, then turn by degrees until he could reach the jug with his other hand. Despite his thirst he peered anxiously at the water within, unsure of its purity. He sipped, and could find no fault with its taste, so he took a larger gulp, and let the water linger in his mouth before swallowing, to soothe his cracked tongue.
When he put down the jug his attention was caught by the rings on the polished tabletop – thousands of them, curiously skewed so that they were not concentric. He had been told that each ring seen in the sectioned trunk of a tree represented one year’s growth, and he knew that this table must have been cut from a tree which was growing before Christ was born. He blinked tears from his eyes as his senses were confused by the rings, which seemed to sway and rotate.
He looked about him, though his head seemed very heavy as he moved it. He saw that he was in a room some ten feet by eleven, with walls made from blocks of solid stone. There was no furniture but the rough bed and the table beside it, though there was a rush mat covering three-quarters of the floor. There was a door opposite the window, made of a wood so dark as to be almost black, with rusted iron hinges. There was an alcove opposite the bed, with a ledge a few inches from the ground, bearing a wooden cover. He was alone, and naked, though there was a pile of clothes at the foot of the bed, and resting beside the heap were his boots and his straw hat.
He drank again from the jug, then tried unsteadily to replace it on the table. So poor was his control over his body that it crashed to the stone floor as he released it. It smashed, and hurled water in all directions. With a great effort, he forced himself from the bed. Though his senses reeled, and sweat seemed to flood from his pores, he managed to crawl across the room on hands and knees, and crossed to the alcove. He felt as though half his body was dead, and only half alive, so that part of him was struggling to drag the dead weight of the rest.
He lifted the wooden cover to expose a hole of indeterminate depth. The odour was sufficient to assure him of its purpose, and he was able, with difficulty, to use it. He then sat slumped in the alcove, utterly exhausted, and near to fainting. The clarity of mind which had come to him upon his awakening had now all but deserted him, and he had a sense of detachment which made him wonder if he might be dreaming. But there was something about the cold roughness of the stone against his skin which was too real to be doubted.
After a minute’s rest, he felt better. He wondered whether he could put his clothes on, but decided that it was out of the question while he could only command the obedience of half his upper body. He knew that he could not even get his boots on but was determined to get to his feet if he could. He dragged himself over to the window, and tried to heave himself up, but there was no purchase or leverage to be gained from his helpless right arm, and he could not stand up. He only managed to bring himself up to the point where he could look over the ledge at what lay beyond. The sight which met his eyes was unexpected, and he caught his breath in amazement.
He was looking down from a great height upon a huge valley hemmed in by a distant fringe of cliffs and granite slopes. Away to the east he could see the sunlight glinting upon a lake. He reckoned that the valley must be twenty miles or more across, and it seemed to be circular in shape, rimmed by worn grey rocks. The whole floor of the valley was planted with crops, those nearest to the cliff being a mixture of orchards and fields of green root-crops, everything arrayed in careful lines.
When he looked along the curving wall of the cliff he could see other windows, and there were buildings perched on ledges both to the sides and below, built into the face of the cliff, clinging in defiance of common sense to an unreasonably steep slope. This, he knew at once, was the real Adamawara, and the strange lifeless land through which they had travelled was only the barrier separating it from the greater world, preserving it from invasion.
He could see workers moving in the fields, tiny and insect-like. They were clothed in white. Noell tried to lean out to look down, but was seized by an awful giddiness which sent him reeling back into the room, his limbs sprawling as if he were a rag doll dropped by a careless child. He fell on his right side, and felt the impact dully, though it was not what he would normally have called pain. Even so, tears came to his eyes, and his thoughts became confused. The door opened behind him, and he turned his head sharply in surprise, but his sensibility was so disturbed that he could hardly take in the events which followed.
The first person to enter was a black woman dressed in a loose-fitting white robe. Her face was so smooth, he thought at first that she might be elemi, but the way she moved aside told him almost immediately that she was a servant, and therefore common. The man who followed her had to be a vampire, though he was like no person of any kind that Noell had ever seen.
He was not black, but pale brown, with light brown eyes which matched his skin. He was nearly as tall as Noell, which was unusual in the extreme for the people of these climes, and his hair was hidden by a turban. His face was not wrinkled like the faces of the ancient black vampires Noell had seen, but in spite of that he somehow gave the impression of being very old indeed. His limbs were slender, but by no means as devoid of flesh as Ghendwa’s, and he moved with a smooth slowness. He was dressed in a long chemise of white cloth, which hung to his knees; his calves were bare and he wore light sandals upon his feet.
When he saw that Noell was out of bed, and that he had fallen, he hurried forward to help. As the man tried to lift him, Noell felt sure that he was going to faint, and the sense of being in a dream returned to him very forcibly. His vision was blurred, and so he could not at first make out the features of the other person who came to help him. It was not until the two of them had placed him on the bed that her face suddenly came into focus.
She was, to judge by the lustre of her skin, a vampire, but she was light in colour – lighter than Leilah, though not as pale as a Gaulish vampire lady — and her hair was russet brown, not black. Her eyes were strange, more grey than brown, the left lighter in colour than the right. Her face was rather angular, with straight cheek-bones and a square chin. She seemed to him then the most beautiful woman he had seen since he left the waters of Cardigan Bay half a lifetime before.
The man spoke to the servant-woman in a language which Noell did not know, and she began picking up the shards of the water-jug. Then he turned to look down at Noell, pausing before he spoke as though he were not entirely sure that Noell could hear or understand.
‘Do you understand Latin?’ asked the visitor, in that language. To Noell, trying to collect himself, it seemed utterly absurd. He had expected to be addressed in Uruba, and might have been less surprised to hear English. But to hear instead the language of the church!
He felt unable to speak, but he nodded.
‘May I speak to you in that language? I will use Uruba, if you prefer.’
Again, Noell nodded, hoping that his meaning was clear. His head was aching.
‘Then it falls to me to bid you welcome,’ said the visitor, softly. He looked toward the window, having obviously guessed that Noell had looked out of it before his fall. ‘This is our home,’ he said. ‘It is Adamawara.’ He glanced briefly at the servant, who was now making her way out of the open door, carrying the bits of the broken jug. Then he signalled briefly to the vampire lady, who also left, without having spoken a word
‘My name is Kantibh,’ he went on, in a tone that was clearly meant to be soothing and friendly. ‘The lady is Berenike. You are in her house, in what we call the place of the aitigu. You know, I think, that the word means unfinished. I must tell you that the disease you have is still progressin
g, and that its worst effects are yet to come. You must have heard it called the silver death, but it rarely kills, and the elemi have medicines which will sustain you. You will feel very helpless – a prisoner in your body – and your mind will wander in strange regions of impossibility. You may feel that you are gone to Ipo-oku, or burning in the fires of your Christian Hell, but you will come safely through the ordeal, I promise it. Can you reply now?’
Noell licked his lips, and managed to say: ‘Yes. I understand,’ though he had to grope for the Latin words, which did not come readily to his tongue. He added an attempted question: ‘My companions?’
‘All alive,’ answered Kantibh. ‘The one called Quintus has told us your names. He too has the sickness, but not so badly yet. It is the same with the woman. The one called Langoisse is the worst; he is greatly weakened by the fever, though the silver death has not yet claimed him. The Ibau Ngadze is sick now but will recover soon, and the Uruba boy Ntikima should suffer least of all.’
‘Ghendwa?’ asked Noell, faintly.
‘He will live. As for the one who hurt him – he will die in the forest, I think. The Mkumkwe will not search for him.’
Noell relaxed a little, content with this information. He looked up at the shadowed features of the man. ‘Are you elemi?’ he asked.
Kantibh shook his head. ‘Aitigu,’ he said. ‘Unfinished. But I am what you would call a vampire. I came here like yourself, as a traveller, some hundreds of years ago. I came to the city of Meroë in the land of Kush with ambassadors from my own people, who lived in Persia.
I was a learned man, and had visited Rome and India. I journeyed with a caravan across the great desert to Bornu, where I first heard of Adamawara. It was long in my mind to seek out this first nation of the world, and when the time came for me to begin my journey, an elemi came to me, to be my guide. The first Christians had already come here, and returned into the world. The first white men here had been Greeks from Alexander’s time, but there were brown men from Sumer and Egypt before that. Berenike has been here nearly two thousand years. The vampires of Adamawara cast a wide net, to catch the wisdom of the world, but they are patient in its casting. It is long since they caught a man like you.’
Noell was not quite sure what the other intended to signify by the words ‘a man like you’, but he did not think the reference was simply to the colour of his skin.
‘Caught?’ he repeated.
He felt that he had to speak now, if he could. He thought he should introduce himself, but he had to cough, and could not immediately stop. The other laid a cool hand upon his shoulder, as though to draw the spasm out of him.
‘You are very ill,’ said Kantibh. ‘I think you will be better for a little while, when you have rested, but then the silver death will carry your senses away. We will try to talk again, I promise you, but it would be better for you to sleep now. I will come again.’
Kantibh was still watching him, apparently greatly concerned for his welfare. Noell nodded, giving permission for the other to go, if permission were required.
Kantibh smiled at him. ‘You will be hungry,’ he said. ‘Berenike will send food, and will have your possessions brought to you. She may send servants with water, in which you may be bathed, if you are strong enough. I must return to Quintus now.’
As Kantibh left, and drew the door shut behind him, Noell closed his eyes again. He felt angry with himself for his helplessness, for his incomprehension. He knew there were a thousand questions which needed to be asked, but he knew that time must pass before he would be able to take up the mission which had brought him here: the mission of understanding what Adamawara was, and the nature of the breath of life.
He was determined to prove the truth of Kantibh’s words, and live, no matter how Shigidi might torture him in the days to come. If he did not, all his sacrifices would be in vain, and he had come too far for all his efforts to be cancelled and made void.
‘I am Noell Cordery,’ he whispered. ‘Edmund Cordery’s son.’
TWO
His season of dreams did not begin immediately. He was able to watch black men – presumably Mkumkwe, though not decorated like the warriors he had previously seen – carry jars of water into his room, pouring them into a bath made from polished wood. He was weak, but awake, when they came to move him, though he could barely feel their hands upon his body when they lifted him. The water was not hot, but it had been warmed, and perfumed. The serving-men washed him carefully and tenderly, using soap – not the greasy soap made from shea butter or crabwood, which he had perforce become used to, but something more solid. It too was perfumed.
While they bathed him bread and fruit were set on the table, but they were in no hurry to make him eat. They left him alone for a little while, to soak the dirt from his body at his leisure, returning after an interval to wash his long, lank hair. One man took the clothes which were piled at the foot of the bed, and washed them, hanging them over the window-sill to dry in the rays of the noon sun. One of the servants brought a razor, and spread soap over his whiskers, then set about shaving off the shaggy beard which he had grown since the expedition set out.
His clothes dried quickly, and when they helped him from the bath they put a shirt on for him, and trousers also, so that he could attend to his meal with such dignity as it was still possible for him to achieve in his reduced condition. He ate little, and with great difficulty. He could raise himself to a half-sitting position, but his movements were awkward, and he still could not use his right arm at all.
Afterwards he collapsed back on the bed, unable to muster the energy to move his good hand or stir his legs. He seemed to lie there for a very long time, quite still. When a shaven-skulled elemi came in, wearing the red and white beads which marked him an Oni-Shango, Noell no longer knew whether he was awake or dreaming. He had begun a second journey, which was, in its fashion, as long and arduous as the one which had brought him to Adamawara; it was to lead him through the unknown labyrinths of his soul.
Perhaps the Oni-Shango gave him medicine, or touched him with a feathered wand more benign than the one with which the Egungun had nearly struck him dead. He could not remember. But when that elemi came to him, he was somehow taken across a threshold of experience, into another dimension of his being.
All his life, Noell Cordery had dreamed, but for the most part – as with all men – his dreams were lost to him. They happened, and were gone, usually so completely that when he woke, he often did not know they had happened at all. In this season of dreams, however, the order of things was turned about, and it seemed to him that while he journeyed with Shigidi he moved through the realms of all the dreams he had ever dreamed, which now were present in his memory and jostling for attention in a way they never had before. It was his waking self which now was forgotten, and his dream-self that was set free, to take command of his consciousness.
It was as though everything that he had ever dreamed in all his life could now be dreamed again, and everything that he had ever enacted in the safe haven of sleep – secure from the judgement of man and God alike, concealed by the stillness of his body – was now to be subject to the twin burdens of examination and conscience.
At first, his journey with Shigidi took the form of a long interrogation, a questioning of his innermost soul, in which all the instruments of inquisition could be brought to bear.
His waking self had never gone into the torture chambers which lay beneath the prisons of the Tower of London, though his ears had sometimes caught the distant echo of screams. But his dreaming self, in the days when he was a child, had often wandered those dark corridors, spurred by curiosity and fascination, and watched the prince’s men at work. He had lain upon the rack himself and fearfully faced the threat of heated irons. He lay shackled on the rack again, now, and watched the play of red-fired metal dancing in the dark air, while sepulchral voices demanded acquaintance with his secrets.
Paradoxically, he felt no pain, yet felt a stern obligation to p
retend at all costs that he did, so as to give the appearance of terror and despair to his interlocutors, to conceal from them his immunity to their tricks.
Why must he pretend agony? He could not tell. He did not know what further threat it was which they held over him, which made him play the part of a man so hurt and terrorized as to be incapable of lie or concealment; he only felt that he must do it, to justify to himself and to those he betrayed the inevitability of his revelations. Perhaps it was not they who threatened him at all, but he who was over-anxious to betray himself, eager to confess in order to unburden his soul. He was threatened with death, again and again – of that he was sure. Was it really his torturers who threatened him? Was it his own perversity? Was it that merciless deity Shigidi, in whose creation he was forced to dwell? He could not tell.
It was not all interrogation and inquisition; there was a universe to be explored, enlightenment to be sought in so many matters which had sorely confused his older self whose coherency was tied to wakefulness. His waking self knew nothing of the vampire sabbat and the mysterious magic by which vampires made themselves, but his dream-self had discovered such conventicles, and had seen what happened there. He had seen Satan at his work, receiving homage from the vampires, watching them dance with his imps, savouring his unnatural intercourse with them, tormenting their flesh secure in the knowledge that it would heal again. Now, he was free to make such visits at his leisure, and understand what he saw.
He saw Richard the Norman at the sabbat: copper-eyed Coeur-de- lion, laughing with his flattering friend Blondel de Nesle. He saw Carmilla Bourdillon at the sabbat, red-eyed with fever, her fingers like talons dripping blood. He saw Ghendwa at the sabbat, parading his virtuous spoilt prick, demonstrating to pale ladies how he could piss blood despite his condition, and leak black semen in a sticky stream.
He saw men who were not yet vampires come to claim their heritage from the Prince of Hell, saw them swear their horrid oaths, and heard the chanting of the spells which were intoned when Satan ran his icy phallus into their guts. He strained his ears to hear those spells, determined to remember them, but each time he repeated a phrase to himself the rest were lost, and it was all in a language which he did not know. When the sabbat ended, he still did not know what magic was required for the making of a vampire; but he had recognised some of those who swore the oath and offered their hind-quarters to be ravaged.
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