Blood and Gold - Anne Rice [36]
Again Mael broke off. Then, “Surely you know, Marius,” he said, “how gentle our god was. When he made you, when he spoke to you there was nothing of anger or hate in him, but this god was full of wrath.”
I nodded.
“I told the priests what the god had said to me. They drew back in a group, all afraid and disapproving.
“ ‘No,’ they said, “he has been asking for blood too much. It is not fitting that he should have it. He is to starve now as always between each full moon and until the yearly rituals so that he comes from the oak thin and ravenous, like the dead fields, ready to drink the blood of sacrifice and become plump with it, like the bounty of the coming spring.’
“What was I to say?” asked Mael. “Finally I tried to reason with some of them. “To make a god, surely he needs strength,’ I explained. “And he himself is burned from the Terrible Fire, and perhaps the blood helps him and heals him. Why not give him sacrifice? Surely you have a condemned man in one of the villages or settlements who can be brought to the oak?’
“They drew back altogether, and they stared at the tree and its door and its locks. And I realized they were afraid.
“Then a dreadful thing occurred, which changed me utterly. There came from the oak a stream of enmity that I could feel as though someone full of rancor were staring at me!
“I could feel it as though the being looked upon me with all his rage, his sword raised to destroy me. Of course it was the power of the god, using his mind to flood mine with his hatred. But so strong was it that I could not think of what it was, or what to do.
“The other priests ran. They had felt this anger and hatred as well. I couldn’t run. I couldn’t move. I stared at the oak. I think the old magic had caught me. God, poems, songs, sacrifice—those things did not matter to me suddenly. But I knew a powerful creature was inside the oak. And I didn’t run from it. And at that moment my evil plotting soul was born!”
Mael gave another very dramatic sigh. He was silent, his eyes fixed on me.
“How so?” I asked. “What did you plot? You had spoken through the mind with the gentle god of your own grove. You had seen him at the full moon take sacrifice, both before and after the Terrible Fire. You saw me when I was changed. You’ve just said so. What struck you so about this god?”
He looked overwhelmed for a moment.
Finally, gazing ahead of him again as if he had to, he continued.
“This god was more than angry, Marius. This god meant to have his way!”
“Then why weren’t you afraid?”
A silence fell in the room. I was truly a bit perplexed.
I looked at Avicus. I wanted to confirm: Avicus was this god, no? But to ask such a question was crude. It had been said earlier that Avicus gave the Dark Blood to Mael. I waited, as it was proper for me to do.
Finally Mael looked at me in the most sly and strange fashion.
His voice dropped, and he smiled venomously.
“The god wanted to get out of that oak,” he said, glaring at me, “and I knew that if I helped him, he would give me the Magic Blood!”
“So,” I said smiling, because I couldn’t help it. “He wanted to escape the oak. But of course.”
“I remembered you when you escaped,” Mael said, “the mighty Marius, blooming from blood sacrifice, running so speedily from us! Well, I would run like you! Yes, and yes, and as I thought these things, as I plotted, as I thought, I heard the voice from the oak again, directed soft and secretive, only to me:
“ ‘Come closer,’ it commanded me, and then as I pressed my forehead to the tree it spoke. “Tell me of this Marius, tell me of his escape,’ it said. “Tell me and I will give you the Dark Blood and we will flee this place together, you and I.’ “
Mael was trembling. But Avicus looked resigned to these truths as though he had pondered them many times.
“It does become clearer,” I said.
“There is nothing that is not connected with you,” Mael said. He shook his fist at me. It reminded me of a child.
“Your own doing,” I said. “From the moment you stole me from the tavern in Gaul. You