Thirst No. 2 (40 page)

"Oh, my lady," he gushes. "God has sent you."

I begin to cut him down. "Somebody did," I say.

Pino cries out to me as he slumps to the ground. There is great sorrow in his words, but I have heard it all before over the centuries.
"Non voglio morire."
I don't want to die.

Dante answers for me, giving me a future favorite line.

"Then you should never have been born," he says.

8

Later , at night around a fire, I muse to myself that I killed the two men and the woman exactly as I had killed them before. The knowledge that their deaths were certain did not affect my actions in the slightest. Not even a single word that was exchanged between us was different. It makes me wonder whose future I'm from.

Dante sits across from me, wrapped in the swordsman's finery. He has washed out Pino's blood. My new friend is busy gloating over a rabbit I caught for him. A stick skewered through it, the meat hangs in the fire growing more tasty by the minute. The dripping grease crackles in the flames. Dante licks his diseased fingers and his dark eyes shine with joy. He has been muttering prayers to himself since I saved him.

"Tis a wonderful eve, I know," he says. "The light of heaven follows our steps. There can be no other way of explaining how a helpless maid was able to rescue me."

I laugh. "Dante, please don't call me that. Or I will show you again just how wrong you are."

He is instantly apologetic. "I meant no offense, my lady. I intended only to praise the grace of God. You are his instrument in this world, I know that in my heart." He adjusts the rabbit in the fire and licks his cracked lips. "We can eat soon."

"You can have it all," I say. "I have already eaten today."

He is offended. "If you will not feed with me, my lady, I myself will go hungry. It is not right that I should keep taking from you."

I continue to smile. "There is one thing you can give me—information. I have never been in Sicily before. Tell me about this land?"

He brightens. "It is a beautiful land, my lady, filled with sweet orchards and tall trees that cover the hills. You stay around Messina and wander not too far from the well-traveled roads, and you will have a pleasant visit."

"If I had not been far off the well-traveled roads this evening, I would not have been there to rescue you. But I am curious why you say I should stay close to Messina. Surely the Moslems have not landed on Sicily's southern shores?"

His face darkens. "But they have, my lady. A force of them is camped on the beaches in the southwest. Have you not heard?"

"No. I heard that the Duke of Terra di Labur is strong in the south, with many armed knights."

Dante trembles. "Do not speak that name, my lady, for he no longer goes by it. He has turned against the Christian God, and has murdered his own knights. It is by his power and

Create PDF files without this message by purchasing novaPDF printer (http://www.novapdf.com) with his protection that the heathens have managed to land their forces on Sicily."

I am surprised, even though I know all these things deep inside. Yet the future becomes more a dream to me with each passing hour. I know it exists, I know I am from there, but I have to focus to maintain this knowledge. Yet this does not worry me. It seems entirely natural that I should be one hundred percent in the present moment, with Dante, and the cooking rabbit, and his stories of the evil duke. But I have spoiled Dante's appetite by asking about the latter. Dante stares miserably at the fire as if he were staring at a picture of hell. He scratches at his lepered arm and leg—my questions bring him pain. Yet I know I must ask all about the political details.

"What does the duke call himself now?" I ask.

Dante shakes his head. "It is better not to repeat it in the night lest he hear us talking of him. For the night is his cloak, and shadows flow around him."

I laugh again. "Come on, he can't be that bad. I must know his name."

Dante is adamant. "I am sorry, my lady, I will not talk of him. To do so is a sin to your good company."

"My good company will not be so good if you do not answer me. What is the Duke's name now?"

Dante speaks in a whisper. "Landulf of Capua."

I have heard the name before, of course. But now it rings in my ears with less potency and more harmless connotations. Myth surrounds the title, not remembered agonies. Yet I know Landulf is the one I have come for—from the stars, for the stars—even if the flames that sparkle before my eyes blot out most of the nighttime sky. I do not want to focus on future facts—it is another choice I make. I am more intrigued than scared. Capua is tied to Landulf s name because he was originally from there.

"I know this name," I say. "Even in Italy, the farmers in the countryside speak of him.

They say he is an evil wizard, capable of performing magical acts." I pause. "Dante, why are you crying?"

He is really devastated. "It is nothing, my lady. Let us talk of another person." He pokes at the rabbit with another stick he has found. "Or we can just eat, you can have some meat.

You must be hungry after such a long day."

There is something in his tone that catches my attention. "Do you personally know this Landulf of Capua?" I ask.

He stiffens. "No."

"You must know him to be so frightened of him."

He rubs at his leper arm. Actually, the disease has spread so far, he has only a stump left.

His left leg is also little more than a stump; he walks with the aid of a wooden brace I found not far from where he was strung up. His sores are open and fluid oozes from them.

He must be near death, yet he has energy. But now his strength is in a whirlwind of constant motion. His eyes are moist and he cannot stop shaking.

"I cannot talk about him," he begs. "Please do not force me to say his name."

"Dante," I say. "Look at me."

He raises his head. "My lady?"

"Stare deep into my eyes, my dear friend," I say gently, carefully bending his will to mine.

"You need not be afraid to speak of this duke. He cannot harm you now."

Dante blinks and his tears begin to dry. "He cannot harm me," he whispers.

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"That is true," I say. "Now tell me about him, how you came to know him."

Dante sits back and stares at the fire again. He has forgotten the rabbit. He is half in a trance, half in a dream. I know I am asking him to repeat a nightmarish section of life. For even though I have calmed him with my power, his withered leg and arm continue to twitch. It is almost as if his leprosy was given to him by the duke, but that I find hard to believe.

Yet I do believe it. I
know
it.

What do I know? The stars are far away.

Dante's face holds my attention.

"My duke was not merely a duke, but an archbishop and a special friend of the Holy Father," Dante says, in a clearer voice than usual. "It was to Rome my duke brought me at the age of ten to serve as his personal attendant and to sing in the Vatican choir. The Holy Father said my voice was a sacrament, and I was allowed to join the privileged castrati and sacrifice my manhood to the Church. This I did not mind, as long as I was allowed to stay close to my duke. For five years I was at peace within the holy walls, and I thought of nothing but my duty and my vows." He pauses and sighs. Even though he is partly hypnotized, his pain comes through. "Then, it happened, one terrible day, that my duke was falsely accused."

"What was he accused of?"

Dante hesitates. "I thought it was a lie."

"Did the pope accuse him?"

"Yes. The Holy Father himself."

"Of what?" I repeat.

Dante pauses before he answers. "Of invoking the spirit of Satan."

I do not believe in such nonsense, nevertheless, his words are chilling. "Was he cast out?"

I ask.

Dante coughs. The smoke of the burning logs has entered his lungs. The agony of remembering suffocates him, too. "There was a trial," he says. "The cardinals and the Holy Father were present. Accusations were made, then witnesses were called—I had never seen these people before. Each one came forth and stated how my beloved duke had poisoned their minds with demonic spirits. Even I was called to denounce him. The Holy Father made me swear to tell the truth and then—in the same breath—told me to tell lies."

A tear rolls over Dante's ruined face. "I did not know what to say. But I had never seen my duke commit any of these sins. I was afraid but I knew in my heart I could not lie." A hysterical note enters his voice. "Jesus never lied, even when he stood before his accusers."

"Be calm, Dante," I say soothingly. "That was long ago. None of it can hurt you now. Just tell me what happened."

He relaxes some, but shifts closer to the fire, as if chilled.

"The pope grew angry at me, and accused me of being in league with Satan and my duke.

I was chained to my seat and more witnesses were called, more people I had never seen before. These spoke against me as well as my duke, while the cardinals whispered among themselves. I was very afraid. They were talking about burning us. I did not know what to do!"

"Peace, Dante, peace. Continue."

Create PDF files without this message by purchasing novaPDF printer (http://www.novapdf.com) Dante swallows thickly before continuing. On top of everything else, he seems to have trouble breathing. A frown wrinkles his features and he blinks, trying to remember where he is, or where he has been. Yet his voice remains clear.

"We were led away, my duke and I, and thrown into a stone cell where criminals were normally taken. We spent the night together in that stinking place. My fear was great—I knew we were about to be killed. But my duke acted pleased. He said nothing could harm us, that the Holy Father would be forced to release us."

"Were you released?" I ask. My knowledge of the inner workings of the Vatican is extensive. No one accused by the pope of consorting with Satan ever survives. Such mercy would set a poor precedent. Yet Dante nods in response to my question.

"The next morning the jailer came and opened our door. There stood the Holy Father. He said the judgment of the holy council was that we were to be let go, but to be banned from the city of Rome. My duke's titles and properties were not confiscated, and I was amazed.

My duke knelt and kissed the pope's ring before we were led away, and then he stared into the pope's eyes, and far the first time I saw the Holy Father afraid." Dante pauses. "I was afraid as well."

"Of your duke?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

He gestures with a stump. "Because it was as if a black snake reached out from his eyes and touched the Holy Father between the eyes. A snake the others could not see."

"But you saw it?" I ask

"Yes."

"How?"

He speaks with conviction. "It was there!"

"I understand." I have to calm him again, not allow him to come out of his trance. "What did you and your duke do next?"

"Traveled to Persida."

The name is not familiar. "Where is that?"

"Not far."

"Where?"

"Near. Hidden."

I find it strange he is able to avoid answering me directly, and wonder if powerful hypnotic powers have already been brought to bear on his memory.

"What is special about Persida?" I ask carefully.

He coughs painfully. "It is where magic was first invented."

"By your duke?"

"Yes."

"Why did you stay with him in Persida?"

Dante struggles. "I had to."

"Why?" I insist. "Did he use magic on you?"

He bursts with memories. "Yes! He called forth the great serpent! The living Satan! He invoked it in pain and blood and it poured forth from his navel. I saw it again, the snake—

it grew from his intestines and screeched when it saw the light of the world. He poisoned my soul with its filthy powers, and then he poisoned my body."

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"That's when you started to get sick?"

He calms down, so sad. "Yes. In Persida, where magic lived, I began to die."

"Why did he make you sick?"

"For his pleasure."

"But you were a loyal subject?"

More tears. "He did not care. It pleased him to see me eaten away."

I want him to go on. "What did he do next?"

"He went to Kalot Enbolot. That is the door to Sicily. He has a castle there. It was given to him by the Holy Father. He wanted to open the door to the heathens."

"To let the Moslems overrun the Christian world through Sicily?"

"Yes."

"And it was there he took up the name Landulf?"

"Lord Landulf of Capua."

"How did he slay his knights? At the castle?"

"He made them slay one another. The demons summoned by the sacrifices always demand betrayal."

"You keep saying he invoked demons, that he summoned them. What proof do you have of this other than the snakes you thought you saw?"

"I did see them!"

"Fine. But what was Landulf able to do with these demons?"

"He used them to torture men. To control their wills." Dante stops and glances away from the fire, into the dark, and his whole body shakes. "Distance does not matter with these demons. They can cross water and bring death. In the fair land of England, my duke boasted, knights in search of the Holy Grail wander lost because of the spells he cast over them. They will never find the Grail, he said. Forever, they will be lost."

I was familiar with this mystical quest. But it was hard for me to imagine that Landulf had a hand in it. "Why does he bother with these knights?" I ask.

Dante speaks with pride. "Because they are righteous, and the light of God shines before them."

"But you say Landulf is stronger than they are?"

Dante hangs his head, as if ashamed. "I am afraid that he is the strongest."

"But you are a Christian. Your Lord Jesus Christ says no demon can stand before the name of Christ."

Dante continues, dejected, "Landulf cannot be defeated."

"Surely he is not all powerful. You escaped from him. How did you manage to do that?"

But Dante shakes his head. "I did not escape. He sent me away."

"Why?"

Dante looks me straight in the eye, and I believe my power has finally failed. He is no longer in a trance, but he is still frightened, more so than ever—terrified of what he has already told me, what I may do with the knowledge.

"My lady, he told me to find him an immortal ruby beyond all worth. And bring her back to him."

An immortal ruby? My vampiric blood?

It sounds as if Landulf of Capua already knows about me.

That is fair. I intend to know a lot more about him.

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I will go to his castle, I decide.

Dante will lead me to the black wizard.

9

It takes a week to walk to Landul f' s aerie, which stands in the heights of Monte Castello, in southwest Sicily, where, Dante tells me, the Oracle of Venus, the Goddess of Love, once stood. Dante knows a tremendous amount of Roman and Greek history and mythology. He is much more educated than I would have guessed. I begin to understand that one of the reasons Landulf kept him around was because of his powerful story-telling abilities. Even the evil duke loved a good tale, and when Dante starts on a story, his whole demeanor changes, as if he were hypnotized, and he speaks with great eloquence. But the moment the tale is over, he reverts. The sudden personality changes are disconcerting, but I am sympathetic to him because he has obviously been warped by his exposure to Landulf. I feel guilty that I am manipulating him further. Only by dominating him with my eyes, by soothing him several times a day, am I able to persuade him to lead the way to the castle. The thought of the place fills him with dread and he must be wondering that his legs continue to carry him in that direction.

Yet he doesn't seem to wonder about me. His affection for me is genuine; it pains me to use him so. And it is obvious that he is more concerned about me than about himself.

When my influence on him wanes, he begs me to turn back. The human sacrifices he tells me about as being commonplace at the castle fill me with doubt. It is hard to believe there could exist such evil as he describes. Of course that is Dante's point. Landulf is no longer human. He has become a beast he invoked. The devil lives and breathes on a peak once considered sacred in ancient Rome. Before resting each night, Dante recites the entire mass in Latin, praying to a small copper cross he hides during the day in the wooden brace that supports his leper's stump. At night I see him scratching at his sores, and his suffering weighs on my heart. Only a devil, I think, could have cursed him so.

Yet I still do not believe in his Christian demons.

But what draws me to meet Landulf is the chance to witness his magic, whether it be white or black.

Al though I know for a fact it will be black, that I have vi sited the cruel wizard already.

But what I remember of the future grows more abstract with each passing day
.
The dirt paths of old Sicily are my only guides. I remember Alanda's name but I cannot imagine her face. At night, though, I stare for hours at the stars, trying to convince myself that I was once there, in a mysterious ship, with creatures from another world.

And perhaps with the gods of ancient myths.

Dante wants to tell me about Perseus as we walk.

I am familiar with the mythology, of course, having lived in ancient Greece for many years. But Dante insists I have not heard it properly, and it seems to be one of his favorite stories, so I let him speak. But talking as he walks is a luxury Dante can ill afford. Often he must stop to lean on me for support, but now he is remarkably energetic. He has found a stout walking stick that helps him walk as he speaks with loving enthusiasm about the ancient hero. Obviously Dante worships such characters, and wishes he were one, instead

Create PDF files without this message by purchasing novaPDF printer (http://www.novapdf.com) of the crippled leper he is. A handsome young god who could sweep away a beautiful princess such as me. I know Dante is more than a little in love with me.

"Perseus was the son of Zeus and Danae. His grandfather was Acrisius, a cruel king, who visited the oracle at Delphi and learned that his daughter's child was destined to be the instrument of his death. Perseus and his mother were therefore locked in a chest and set adrift on the ocean. The chest floated to Seriphus, where it was found by a fisherman and brought to the king of the land, Polydectes, a generous man who received them with love.

When Perseus had become a young man, Polydectes sent him to destroy the Medusa, a terrible monster that was laying waste to his land and turning men to stone. History has it that Medusa had once been a beautiful maiden whose hair was her chief glory. But she dared to compare herself to Athena, and in revenge the goddess changed her wonderful curls into hissing snakes and she became a monster," Dante pauses. "But that's not what happened."

I have to smile It is only a story. "What
really
happened, my friend?" I ask, a mocking note in my voice.

Dante is not dissuaded. "The Medusa never compared herself to anyone. She thought she was beyond comparison, beyond all the gods and goddesses. It was only her hair that became monstrous—her face remained beautiful."

I laugh. "That is good to know."

"It is an important point. One never knows if it was her beauty or the serpents on her head that were able to turn men and other creatures to stone. But I must continue with the tale.

Perseus, given a divine shield by Athena, and winged shoes by Hermes, approached Medusa's cave while the monster slept, Perseus took special care not to look directly at her. All around him in the cavern were the stone figures of men and women and animals who had chanced to gaze at the evil creature. Guided only by the Medusa's image reflected in his bright shield, he cut off her head and ended the threat of the monster."

"Then he gave the head to Athena?" I knew the end, I thought. Dante shook his head and spoke seriously. "That is not true. He kept it for himself. It was with the Medusa's head that he was able to defeat Atlas, a n d steal the gods' golden apples. It was only with the Medusa’s head that he was able to turn to stone the Titan that was threatening to eat Andromeda, who would later become his wife." Dante shook his head again " Perseus never gave up the severed head of the Gor gon. It was too valuable a weapon." I continue to smile, even though I know we draw close to Landulf s castle. The forest has changed, become wilder and darker, filled with trees that have twisted arms for branches, sharp nails for leaves. A gloom hangs over the land and it depresses even me, me who is usually not affected by subtle elemental vibrations. Even the sun's rays are dimmed by a gray overcast that appears made more of dust than water vapor. There is a constant odor of smoke, and I believe I detect the stench of burnt bodies. Still, I think I am an invincible vampire, no easy victim for Landulf and his black sorcery.

"That is only one version of the story," I say.

Dante regards me with disappointment.

"It is the correct version, my lady," he says. "It is an important story. Hidden within it are many great truths."

"You will have to explain them to me another time." I pause and survey the land ahead.

We are in rugged mountains made of hard rock and dry riverbeds. In the distance hangs a

Create PDF files without this message by purchasing novaPDF printer (http://www.novapdf.com) black mist that even my supernatural vision cannot pierce. This unnatural cloud clings to some kind of massive stone structure, but I cannot discern the details. I point and ask,

"What is that?"

Dante is suddenly the cowering fool again. He clings to my arm and the fluid from his open sores stains my white shirt. "It is our death, my lady. There is still time to turn back.

Before his thralls come for us in the black of night."

"Who are his thralls?"

Dante speaks in a frightened whisper. "Men who have no hearts, and yet still live. I swear to you I have seen these creatures. They see without eyes and have no need to breathe fresh air."

"How many men does Landulf have at his command?"

Dante is animated. "You don't understand, my lady. His power is not in strength of arms.

Had he not one man, he could still hold off the full might of Rome, and the Moslems for that matter. Even they fear him."

I grip Dante's shoulders. "Tell me how many men he has under his command. Even an estimate will help me."

Dante is having trouble catching his breath. "I never counted them. It must be several hundred."

"Two hundred? Eight hundred?"

Dante coughs. "Maybe five hundred. But they are not important. It is the spirits that haunt this land that will kill us. They are in the trees, the rocks—he sends them out to spy on those who dare to challenge him. He must already know we are here. We have to go back!"

I am gentle, but I do hold his eye. "Dante, my friend, you have done me a great service. I know you didn't want to come here but you have. And I know it was out of love and respect for me. But now you have repaid your debt to me. You are free to return the way you have come. I want you to return to Messina, and save yourself. There is no need for you to go any farther along this road."

To my surprise, my power over him is outweighed by his love for me. He shakes his head and pleads with me. "You do not know what he will do to you. He has powers you cannot imagine. A lust for cruelty and pain that cannot be spoken. He rips the eyes from his victims and stores them in jars to later feed to caged rats he keeps in his personal quarters.

He pulls the bones from slaves before their very eyes and munches on them at gruesome suppers. All this he does to set the stage for his satanic invocations. But when the spirits come, there is nowhere to hide." Dante weeps and grips my arm fiercely. "Please don't go there, my lady! In God's holy name I beg you!"

I kiss him, stroke his face, and then shake my head.

"I must go," I say. "But I will go in the name of your God, if it comforts you, and the name of my God as well. Wish me luck, my dear Dante, and take care of yourself. You are a precious soul, and I have known so few in my life."