Blood and Gold - Anne Rice [238]
“My soul still aches over the losses I’ve suffered. I don’t know which causes me the greater pain—the loss of my goddess, or my hatred of Santino. She is gone beyond my reach forever. But Santino still lives.”
“Why don’t you do away with him?” asked Thorne. “I’ll help you find him.”
“I can find him,” said Marius. “But without her permission I can’t do it.”
“Maharet?” Thorne asked. “But why?”
“Because she’s the eldest of us now, she and her mute twin, and we must have a leader. Mekare cannot speak and might not have wits to speak even if she could. And so it’s Maharet. And even if she refuses to allow or judge, I must put the question to her.”
“I understand,” said Thorne. “In my time, we gathered to settle such questions, and a man might seek payment from one who had injured him.”
Marius nodded.
“I think I must seek Santino’s death,” he whispered. “I am at peace with all others, but to him I would do violence.”
“And very well you should,” said Thorne, “from all that you’ve told me.”
“I’ve called to Maharet,” said Marius. “I’ve let her know that you are here and that you’re seeking her. I’ve let her know that I must ask her about Santino. I’m hungry for her wise words. Perhaps I want to see her weary mortal eyes gazing on me with compassion.
“I remember her brilliant resistance of the Queen. I remember her strength and maybe now I need it. . . . Perhaps by now she’s found the eyes of a blood drinker for herself, and need not suffer anymore with the eyes of her human victims.”
Thorne sat thinking for a long moment. Then he rose from the couch. He drew close to the glass beside Marius.
“Can you hear her answer to you?” he asked. He couldn’t disguise his emotion. “I want to go to her. I must go to her.”
“Haven’t I taught you anything?” Marius asked. He turned to Thorne. “Haven’t I taught you to remember these tender complex creatures with love? Perhaps not. I thought that was the lesson of my stories.”
“Oh, yes, you’ve taught me this,” said Thorne, “and love her I do, in so far as she is tender and complex as you so delicately put it, but I’m a warrior, you see, and I was never fit for eternity. And the hatred you harbor for Santino is the same as the passion I harbor for her. And passion can be for evil or good. I can’t help myself.”
Marius shook his head.
“If she brings us to herself,” he said, “I will only lose you. As I’ve told you before, you can’t possibly harm her.”
“Perhaps, perhaps not,” said Thorne. “But whatever the truth, I must see her. And she knows why I’ve come, and she will have her will in the matter.”
“Come now,” Marius said, “it’s time for us to go to our rest. I hear strange voices in the morning air. And I feel the need of sleep desperately.”
When Thorne awoke he found himself in a smooth wooden coffin.
Without fear, he easily lifted the lid, and then opened it to one side and sat up so that he might see the room around him.
It was a cave of sorts, and beyond he heard the loud chorus of a tropical forest.
All the fragrances of the green jungle assaulted his nostrils. He found it delicious and strange, and he knew it could only mean one thing: that Maharet had brought him to her hiding place.
He climbed from the coffin as gracefully as he could and he stepped out into a huge room full of scattered stone benches. On the three sides the jungle grew thick and lively against a fine wire mesh and through the mesh above a thin rain came down refreshing him.
Looking to his right and left, he saw entrances to other such open places. And following the sounds and scents as any blood drinker could do, he moved to his right until he entered a great room where his Maker sat as he had seen her at the very beginning of his long life, in a graceful gown of purple wool, pulling the red hairs from her head and weaving them into thread with her distaff and her spindle.
For many long