The Vampire Armand - Anne Rice [98]
Marius, who invariably rose before me, was sitting nearby. He immediately gave out the expected appreciative laugh.
“Have you been saving that little trick for such a moment?” he said.
I was dazed by the snow, as I looked around me. How afraid I was, merely looking at the frozen pines that had everywhere sprung up on the ruins of the village. I could scarce speak.
“No,” I managed to say. “I didn’t know I could do it. I don’t know how high I can leap, or how much strength I have. You’re pleased, however?”
“Yes, why shouldn’t I be? I want you to be so strong that no one can ever hurt you.”
“And who would, Master? We travel the world, but who even knows when we go and when we come?”
“There are others, Amadeo. And there are others here. I can hear them if I want to, but there is a good reason for not hearing them.”
I understood. “You open your mind to hear them, and they know you are there?”
“Yes, clever one. Are you ready now to go home?”
I closed my eyes. I made the Sign of the Cross in our old way, touching the right shoulder before the left. I thought of my Father. We were in the wild fields and he stood high in his stirrups with his giant bow, the bow only he could bend, like unto the mythical Ulysses, shooting arrow after arrow at the raiders who thundered down on us, riding as if he were one of the Turks or Tatars himself, so great was his skill. Arrow after arrow, drawn out with a swift snap from the pouch on his back, went into the bow and was shot across the high blowing grass even as his horse galloped at full speed. His red beard was blowing in the fierce wind, and the sky was so blue, so richly blue that—.
I broke off this prayer and almost lost my balance. My Master held me.
“Pray, you’ll be finished with all this very quickly,” he said.
“Give me your kisses,” I said, “give me your love, give me your arms as you always have, I need them. Give me your guidance. But give me your arms, yes. Let me rest my head against you. I need you, yes. Yes, I want it to be quick and done, and all its lessons in here, in my mind, to be taken back home.”
He smiled. “Home is Venice now? You’ve made the decision so soon?”
“Yes, I know it even at this moment. What lies beyond is the birth land, and that’s not always home. Shall we go?”
Gathering me in his arms, he took to the air. I shut my eyes, even forfeiting my last glimpse of the motionless stars. I seemed to sleep against him, dreamlessly and fearlessly.
Then he set me down on my feet.
At once I knew this great dark hill, and the leafless oak forest with its frozen black trunks and skeletal branches. I could see the gleaming strip of the Dnieper River far below. My heart scudded inside me. I looked about for the bleak towers of the high city, the city we called Vladimir’s City, which was old Kiev.
Piles of rubble which had once been city walls were only yards from where I stood.
I led the way, easily climbing over them and wandering among the ruined churches, churches which had been of legendary splendor when Batu Khan had burnt the city in the year 1240.
I had grown up among this jungle of ancient churches and broken monasteries, often hurrying to hear Mass in our Cathedral of Santa Sofia, one of the few monuments which the Mongols had spared. In its day, it had been a spectacle of golden domes, dominating all those of the other churches, and was rumored to be more grand than its namesake in faraway Constantinople, being larger and packed with treasures.
What I had known was a stately remnant, a wounded shell.
I didn’t want to enter the church now. It was enough to see it from the outside, because I knew now, from my happy years in Venice, just what the glory of this church had once been. I understood from the splendid Byzantine mosaics and paintings of San Marco, and from the old Byzantine church on the Venetian island of Torcello what glory had once been here for all to see. When I thought of the lively crowds of Venice, her students, scholars, lawyers, merchants, I could paint a dense vitality on this bleak and wasted scene.
The snow was