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I want to thank everyone who has had the patience to read The Others, and I want to thank especially the people who have written me (^-^) If the introduction of this story still holds your attention, then it's Onward Ho to the realm of White Mist (LOL); namely the views and perception of meandering and ultra-rambling WhiteMist. Part 1/Introduction- Part 2 & 3 / Body - The Cycle / Seasons- Why there are 4 stand-alone chapters? They are vanguard chapters which set the tone of my writing of Louis and Lestat; they are integral chapters of The Others, and they can also function as stand-alone. I have written with the great "play within a play" concept from Shakespeare's Hamlet in mind- of course, it just seemed a pretty grand ideaLOL The Seasons / The Cycle My warning in the disclaimer stays. Yes, unfortunately there will be more exposition into the long-winded topics. I will also say, in addition to philosophy, lots of politics (2 chapters), we will sally forth to Homeric lyricism (if I get there). And again, my sincere thanks to everyone who reads, and do mail me your thoughts and comments! Many warm regards, WhiteMist (^v^)
The Others
-Day 8 / Opera and Siesta- He had been thinking about what Myandar told them. It was by far an easier preoccupation than letting his mind drift back to the question of what would happen to them... In truth he had been avoiding Lestat since the night before. Tonight he had made another lame excuse. Lestat had looked curious and concerned; it made him feel guilty to do this. So he had added that that they might listen to his new Compact Disk of Carmina Burana performed by the London Philharmonic, when they returned to the house. He walked with a heavy heart, and even the uncivilized youths he fed on, their blood could not calm the abominable beast in him; he felt himself wrapped in a veritable shroud of darkness and a terrible forediment filled his heart. At the top of the backstairs he had paused, coming back to his senses seemingly. There was a presence... And they were at the back parlor. Remus and Myandar. There was something disturbing about everything. There was tension in the air, and Remus looked very different from the past few days. It was the attire. The shimmer of color in the dark blue coat. And the blood teemed in Remus' face, giving him a very heightened flush of color; he looked like a drunk with his red-rimmed eyes. He could not recall if Remus ever looked more of his mortal age, like one of those modern youths, the uncouth creatures he had only just killed. And the Roman was talking most animatedly to Myandar; he could feel from the tone that it was a less than polite manner. While he had not heard the earlier part of the conversation, on coming in he heard Myandar's reply in their archaic form of Latin; it was a curious blend of archaic Greek and a hint of the modern Latin he had learnt by rote as a child... Archaic beyond his estimation, beautiful in it's accents and subtle modulation... And his vampiric brain had been able to decipher, almost miraculously, it's meaning even though he could not understand every word they were speaking... "Of course I agree he is going too far this time." "Mark my words, I never started this dispute," Remus said sharply. "You do not know if it's Marcus." "Of course I do for Hades' sake! Did Alexas tell you what he did? This is the second time!" "We will do something about Marcus." "Solicit the Sophist but not me Myandar!" Remus said antagonistically. "Calm yourself, you know Marcus is prone to such behavior-" "So the lot of you are happy that he attacks only me! Hippomenus tolerates him, Krono ignores him, and you, you adore the little cad!" Remus' voice acquired a dangerous edge, his eyes showed cold rage. "And he dares claim kinship to Lauren, impertinent dog! He deserves the Persian sentence!" "We will do something with Marcus," Myandar repeated with forbearance, her eyes were stern. "Lay your rules if you have to, but you make him keep to them or I will not be obliged to be this giving," Remus sneered, and was gone through the door to the front parlor and out of the house. Everything had happened in a matter of seconds, so quickly that Louis did not know what to think of this. He was just staring at Myandar in a stunned silence. "Remus finds the need to be difficult sometimes," Myandar said dismissively, returning to her laptop. "Just ignore him." A curious advice. An advice which told him enough of what they were doing to their wounded friend in that room, that dark hair vampire whom he had not seen since that faithful day. What could he say of others when he was the one who had created the entire situation? What hypocrisy, unctuous kindness... He shifted, trying to close his hand on the book he was reading. Finding none, he had opened his eyes, mildly annoyed that he should have misplaced it. Louis had given an involuntary start when he found himself looking into Lestat's face. Yes, this was his room, this was his bed, and this was Lestat lying with his head cradled in the crook of his arm, sleeping beside him. He settled back slowly, closing his eyes. Oh, he was glad to see Lestat... Calmness came over him to know that this was not the Lestat who lay on the chapel floor, eyes wide open; or the automaton who walked the house. Would he ever know what went on through Lestat's mind during those years? He would not risk asking at this moment of peace. He was fraught with anxiety and fear even as he thought back on what happened only the other day, when Lestat had been so close to losing himself; the visible sign of conscious thought turning to irreversible confusion. What powers did Remus possessed that he could restore Lestat to reason? What vampiric sorcery did he practice? Lestat's impassioned narration of his meeting with Remus, and right from the moment he lay eyes on this Blood Drinker; searching his experiences through all the years amongst the undead, all he had learnt pointed out that Remus must have an ulterior motive in being so kind to them. But Remus seemed to live in a universe of his own, he erected a polite barrier between them, and had no interest in crossing it; he had a nonchalance that was unexplainable. Where were they heading to with this? Would Remus and Myandar leave with Anton eventually, taking all their mysteries with them, leaving him and Lestat no wiser than when they started? Was that it? Their modus vivendi was one of anonymity, they did not crave the visibility that Lestat had reached out to so often... Yet, on the other hand, would they show the common deceit and cruelty he had seen so often in his endless journeys? The fingers twitched. The luxurious tan could not make the nails less gleaming and glass-like. He leant forward to press his lips to Lestat's brow. On drawing back, he felt Lestat's hand hold him back. The blue eyes were languid under the fluttering lids, a lazy smile curled on the handsome face. "In truth, you're such poor company Louis..." came the familiar voice husky with sleep. The sweet remembrance of this pierced his lethargic mind. It took such simple words, such delectable sweetness from Lestat to make him see through his own blindness. Oh, he did not think Lestat meant any more with his words than that he had not kept company yet it exposed the depth of his dilemma... On the one hand he had beseeched for them to come together, to find the affection they had before; on the other hand, he had kept Lestat away, condemning his imprudence... Did he even know what he was doing? This was prodigiously sad. Perhaps he was after all a fool who never knew what he wanted in life? "What is it?" Lestat blinked, coming awake and all attentive now. "Louis, what is it?" The satiny hardness of Lestat's hand smoothed his face. "I've the Carmina Burana CD here somewhere..." "Hmm. I think I rather enjoyed this, your kind of entertainment." "Ah?" "Opera and sleeping, they're the same." "To you perhaps, your propensity to sleep through the most beautiful opera is unsurpassed." "What can I say if I've acquired your taste for a siesta? Sleeping is, I should think, as sacred as poring through a book or playing the keyboard to you." "I wouldn't go as far as that." "Oh yes you would," Lestat laughed. "That was your favorite excuse." "That was because I didn't care to say your idea of the evening was irrevocably boring," he smiled and nearly laughed to see the surprise on his maker's face. "So modern manners now give you the liberty and right to be rude?" Lestat planted a soft kiss to his face. "Perhaps only to be honest," he drew in a deep breath, becoming fascinated with the color coming into Lestat's face. "Your heart is so brutal always," Lestat whispered, drawing him close. Blessed peace. Blessed darkness... may the omens be good...
-Day 10 / Utopia- Something was brewing, waiting to happen. For the past three days Louis had been exceptionally quiet, he would not talk nor even say anything to him. Louis could be simple to understand at times. Yet, he could in his convoluted ways, be impossible to understand; it was at such times that he was often in need to look after his gentleman friend more carefully. Perhaps in the past he would have tried to force Louis, quiz him endlessly with the same questions until he was certain that gentlemanly conduct aside, Louis wanted to hit him. Well, in the later years, oftentimes they would end up in a cool settlement, and not talk to each other for weeks and months on end. Better to let Louis pick the time to talk. With his present independence, given enough time, Louis would come to him. When they first returned to New Orleans, Louis would come to him occasionally, and they would talk of a great many things. A great many things of such insignificance! He could feel the questions coming to Louis' lips, and he would wait, and he waited... It was such a great disappointment to hear the cold and heartless admonitions. He was so prepared to savor the reasons, the entreaties, and the eloquent arguments from Louis when he presented the offer from the Body Thief. He would have considered harder; he might even have listened to his own warnings! It was madness to think that things would have happened differently. Would he have had it any other way? He pushed the thoughts away. He had been thinking too much of the past. From his room he could hear the low voices, and then the sound of a door being opened and closed. It was Remus' steps, slow and heavy down the steps to the courtyard. He wondered if the vampire Anton was getting worst. Remus was staying away from the house, and there would only be Myandar at the back parlor on her laptop, or flipping through her records, volumes of books which she brought in everyday. Was Remus leaving everything to his elder's care? If so the poor devil might as well be dead. This gleaming white thing of a woman was cold, distant to anyone with her philosophical and secular detachment. He wanted to step out now but he could not help putting in a word to Myandar when he was passing by. "Your coolness to Anton's disposition is admirable." This did not perturb her, she looked thoughtful with her response. "There was a time when Remus had an inkling of that behavior." "Then I am sorry to disappoint, there only one Vampire Lestat," he said sarcastically. "And what you say is not in answer to my question." "No explanation from me would suffice, I would rather that we leave them as they are, and we will be removed from your life." Myandar's reply grated on his nerves. If she had looked less lifeless, he would have some form of justification to feel offended, he would have accused her of being condescending to him. "If there are such differences, will you tell us more of that?" He turned to see it was Louis standing at the doorway, their eyes met in greeting. "The history that you speak of, the knowledge of this world, of the Blood Drinker, surely they mean something," Louis continued, speaking each word with care and respect. "This blood, is the only thing that is the same between us," Myandar replied, her voice was softer. "Our way of life will always be different." Lestat had to stop himself from throwing out an insult to this; he bit back the words, telling himself to listen. "Our gifts are the evil of mortal existence. This, we see is the belief of the new mellenia. You see this in Blood Drinkers like me, in the Brotherhood, in those of us who have accepted our nature." "All right, so perhaps that is not evil, perhaps there is no religion... Perhaps it's all a lie weaved by beings even more powerful than us, mere vampires; I don't know," he stared at Myandar intently. "If that be your basis of perception Lestat, I am not here to change that; the young should be left to their endeavors and not to be misled, and confused." "Will you not tell us, explain to us, how such powerful vampires as yourself, how do you conceive to live together? How do you do that?" Louis asked in a humble inquiry. "Yes. How do such willful creatures of such intelligence, independence, viciously protective of your own privileges tolerate each other's company for so long?" Lestat asked now, genuinely enchanted by the way Louis had bridged the subject without sounding brazenly demanding. "How can you be contented to do someone's biding? How would Remus want to remain when he so detests this duty? And the vampire Anton, he who exerts such influence on mortal finances, why would he want to be subservient to another? Not unless your Augustus Venidello, that master vampire wields a tight control over everyone. Enforced with laws, and a staff of overseers, where force is the way of things? Is that how it is?" To these questions Myandar seemed to grow more congenital. He could not actually tell from the blandness of her expression but he could feel something akin to kindness from her. It was becoming clear that both Remus and Myandar could easily deceive with their seemingly unchanging visage. It was only when he dug deep into his vampiric soul, to open his heart, that he begin to see their true personality. "To answer your questions, there is no Augustus Venidello," Myandar gave a small smile. "That is just a name. A name to a voice mail. It is a convenient form of communication, we have found it useful when staying in the mortal cities, an untraceable means." "I will explain that everyone in the Brotherhood are acquaintances, companions for a long time before we came together. And in the Brotherhood, we have an elected board of council who advises, decides on the course of action and on the overall running of the Brotherhood." "So you assign duties to each member? Why would any vampire want to pick up the yoke of labor?" he asked, this did not agree with him at all. "No one can live alone and hope to survive. As it is, immortals as much as mortals, needs another's company." "True, I don't refute that, but please go on," he nodded. "Alone or even in scattered groups, the individuals will be busy fending for themselves, guarding their own safety. There are many considerations of such; there are many dangers." "Such a perilous world..." Louis whispered to himself. "To be specific, we want to allow the young ones time to mature, to allow the elders the opportunity to step gradually into this much changed world. We speak of a preparation that goes beyond decades and centuries. Perhaps nothing would happen in the next millennia, it is not possible to make predictions." "But if you arrange life in such a manner, living within your own circle, timeless and eternal, what of living out a mortal life time?" Lestat raised the question, the lesson he had learnt from Marius so long ago. "How do you propose to let the young ones mature as you said?" "I do agree Blood Drinkers are like to sentimentalize certain aspects of their lives, and they seek to live those emotions over and over again," Myandar considered her words before replying. "To answer in part, a Blood Drinker who depends on the mortal world, likens it to his mortal life, he falls to re-arranging it inevitably into his original obsession because he is isolated from the life that surrounds him, and he cannot affect changes. Even if he does, the changes are never intrinsic. It is meaningless." "All right, if that is how you see it. Then how do you go about breaking the monotony, the isolation?" Lestat asked, he was intrigued. "We are a society. And the Brotherhood is defined by responsibility." "My word, aren't we an enlightened species," Lestat muttered, he saw Louis' look of disapproval. "And who are we, Aristotle's students who want the Good Life?" "Perhaps. There are some of us who are fond of that age," the smile remained on Myandar's face. "No mortal theory can encompass the depth nor move beyond the horizon to which we can advance. We learn, we change. To do things, that is to be alive. To sit back, to react, that is to be washed away by time." "You seek a Utopia for the dead!" Lestat almost laughed. "We strive to learn, to share our burden of time, and to live." "Karl Marx would be pleased to know that his theory has been adapted for the dead even if he failed the living-" "Lestat!" Louis who had kept quiet until now, had finally burst out in disbelief. "But can anyone be happy to be assigned a task? Where is free will and independence?" Lestat smiled politely, showing that he was not all out to insult. "So the council decides, so you decreed someone should slog at the desk, listen to endless mortal prattle, and build grand hotels that facilitates the Brotherhood, bring in-" "Will individual ambition not work against the collective decision?" Louis asked, cutting him off. He gave Louis an irritated look. "The mortal sentiments of independence and free will are but illusions. In the expanse of our dimension, the individual does not exist. We thrive and we survive only when we know we hold responsibility to another." "I am shocked-" "And why would you say that?" Louis cut him off again, this time the green eyes were dark and challenged him to make a rebuttal. "And this age, it is a perfect age of individualism. Human beings are filled with more worldly knowledge than any other age, even more than the age of Enlightenment surely; there is no other time in history where human beings are more aware of the Self." "Not individualism my child," Myandar replied patiently. "It is a splintered society of segmented groups, of collective groups of their own versions of self awareness. This is no different from the self-deluding and misled individuals who clogged the streets of Athens, proclaiming their wisdom. Then, one only needs to be charismatic, where now the modern child needs more convincing with carefully tailored and doctored texts, and displays. But they are eventually the same, they are only too willing to sell themselves out without thought nor reason to obscure philosophical ideas and religions." "So you would place your trust on each other than on any religion nor belief." He liked the thoughtful look on Louis' face. He kept the questions to himself as he waited for Myandar to answer. "That is what we strive to do. The Brotherhood is young, and the centuries of coming together have seen many things happening. There are many others whom we know and we would have reached out to them, to bring them together with us." "But you will not seek the vampires, the modern child in the streets?" "There was a period of time when it was done. Perhaps when peace comes again." "So we will not be suitable for your Utopia then," he said now, smiling at Louis' outrage; he wanted to laugh. "You would not want us," Myandar said, looking from him to Louis with a kindly light in her dark eyes. "You will need to find each other first. You need each other more than anything else." "What makes you say that?" Lestat crossed his arms, asking directly. "You should be going now." Myandar smiled, an enigmatic smile which said that she knew something that he did not. He would not have let that to rest but she had gone on, not giving him the opportunity to speak. "Half the night is gone, you should go." Ah, indeed that was true! Much to his consternation he had talked away and not thought of Louis who looked cold and starved. But Louis had enjoyed himself immensely, there was such rapt attention on his face. Oh, they would get some sustenance for Louis first while he pondered on Myandar's words.
He was shrouded in a mist-like rain as he walked back, charting his way by the dim street lamps and the wet gleaming asphalt. It had become just a little cold in this late summer. It was still bearable, certainly more bearable than the winter rains which could be bitingly merciless. Engrossed in his thought, he only became aware that someone was at the fountain as he passed the carriageway. It was Remus. His long tangled flaxen hair was pure whiteness under the moon, a glistening silvery web on the wide shoulders of his somber dark coat. He slowed down, making enough sound to give Remus notice of his approach. Behold the pearl white quality of that skin. Who would ever believe this ethereal beauty was human? Yet what was reality in this age where modern technology had helped to bridge the realm of fantasy often enough, abstract and impossible images overwhelm mortal senses of reality everyday. These were mere images, digitally created, digitally altered but here, standing before him, was the proof of reality that the finest creature ever made in the Savage Garden was indeed his brother. A vampire need only look upon his own kind to feel the awe and horror of divine creation gone awry. Just look into that face... Remus looked like a statue molded to personify sadness, so apparent was this unhappiness that Louis felt it like a palpable aura. And how utterly amazed he was with Remus' height. How well the older vampire had camouflaged his willowy frame with such tremendous control and practice. "Have you ever been in a death sleep Louis?" Remus asked suddenly, the young voice was so soft, so stripped of its usual vitality. "No," he replied uncertainly, much taken aback by this question. "I... I cannot claim to know..." "Do you think one survives without consciousness?" Remus whispered. The eyes which gazed at him were a very light tint of blue. "What nonsense is that?" Louis looked up to see Myandar standing in the courtyard, arms akimbo, wearing a very authoritative expression on her face. "Who are we trying to deceive, what do you think?" Remus glared at her. "Then go back. You asked to come, and yet you cannot be more patient. "I will not." "If you have lost hope, then there is no use pursuing further, is there?" Myandar's voice was cold. There was a ferocious animosity emanating from the Roman, and he seemed on the verge of turning on his elder. "How in Hades can you be so calm, tell me Myandar?" Remus blurted out the anger tinged with helpless desperation, and his accent thickened with emotion. Remus continued in a rapid fusillade of Latin which was totally lost to Louis. "You will wake up every mortal in the neighborhood." "Curse those mortal curs for all you care!" Remus snarled. No matter how kind and well-mannered they looked and behaved, a pragmatist such as himself knew well enough that there was no room for propriety nor courage in the face of such powerful elders; it made Louis plenty nervous to stand in close proximity to these unpredictable creatures. "Don't you want to see him?" Remus whipped around, his eyes impossibly wide and large. The anger washed away in an instance to shock and disbelief. Before Louis could piece the events to make a coherent story, Remus was gone; with preternatural speed, the Roman had left! He must have looked confused as Myandar gestured for him to go into the house; the rain was falling more heavily now, his coat was getting soaked. "Anton has just woken," Myandar explained, her smile was of relief, and even joy. "Come, you need not worry about Remus, don't be afraid of him." There were movement upstairs, voices too soft to be heard. Louis paced the parlor; he was beginning to have the most disturbing premonition as he ran the events of the night over again and again in his mind. He had to ask; he would need to know. Wait for Mayandar to come down to ask her. Finally unable to calm himself, he had put Rossini's Stabat Mater into the Compact Disk player, hoping that the music would soothe him. One had to be this miserable to hear the beauty of the soprano's voice, to hear the heart rending sadness expressed by the strings, the horns, the powerful chorus in the background; the celebration of salvation. The celebration of damnation and death to him. He needed to hear the requiems of Brahms or Mozart, to let the music take his mind along, to let the emotions evoked in their songs to surge through. In a moment of irrelevent recollection, it struck him that he had sat once, numbed and indifferent, listening to these very pieces when he was in Europe so long ago, nothing mattered then, this music could not have touched his soul as it could now. A singular tenor voice sang with the bare accompaniment of organ and cello, a mournful song; he recognized it, Saint Matthew's Passion, the miracle of this song... Silken lips touched his jaw. "What is it?" Lestat's voice. "Is something wrong?" He did not reply. He had heard a step on the staircase, and knew it was Myandar. He opened his eyes to see her walk into the parlor. "Myandar," he muttered, feeling his heart constrict. "Anton has just woken," she said to Lestat with a small smile. "That is good news," Lestat exclaimed, exhilaration in his voice. "And Remus?" Myandar looked at him with a quiet calm, studying him, and probably hearing his thoughts very well but she did not and would not be so impolite as to snatch that thought from his mind. She waited patiently for him to continue. "What is it Louis?" Lestat asked sharply, his maker had obviously perceived that something was not right. If there was ever something more startling about Lestat, it was his maker's infallible ability to detect his fledgling's moods even if Lestat repeatedly stated that the maker could never read his fledgling's mind. "Did we... did I misread him entirely?" he felt tortured and helpless. "You need not be concerned about Remus," Myandar said, her voice softened. "What? What are the two of you saying?" Lestat was shaking him. "Remus' unhappiness has nothing to do with Louis, that was what I would like to say," Myandar said by way of explanation to Lestat. "Well, since Anton is improving I am sure he can just go back to his life as before," Lestat said irritably. "For the love of heaven Lestat..." Louis muttered wearily, Lestat was making him feel even more upset with himself. "What is it? What's the matter with you?" Lestat was obviously getting frustrated. "Answer me!" Lestat stared at him, then at Myandar, demanding for an answer. "Lestat," Myandar said in a quiet authoritative voice, not unlike what she used with Remus and somehow it did effectively shock Lestat to silence. Perhaps she did have a natural flare in controlling others. He looked up at her in incomprehension as she came closer to him. "You know Remus' sentiments. You have nothing to do with what happened, no blame will come to you," she spoke firmly and gently. "If it is any consolation to you, given Anton's character, he would have helped anyone in that predicament. The most important surely is that you have saved Anton's life, the Brotherhood is forever indebted to you." How that soothed his pangs of guilt. He was grateful for her words but yet he was equally tormented. Myandar had absolved him from all responsibility but having put Anton in that wretched disposition, he could not ever forgive himself. Could she have spoken on Anton's behalf; could anyone have been able to define another's decisions? Myandar stood for a few minutes before withdrawing; she must have been at a loss as to what she could do. "Tell me what happened?" Lestat bent close to him, peering into his face. He was beyond guilt, he was damned to take the lives of mortals, and now he had the blood of a fellow Blood Drinker, a vampire who had saved his life, on his hands. "Don't think on it, stop it " Lestat's commanding and forceful voice brought him back. Lestat, the balustrade of his sanity. "Let's get some rest, we will talk tomorrow, if you want to..."
The sounds of the night creatures were overlaid with the soft cacophony of the electric night, they intermingled and harmonized like a symphony. And above that he heard the creaking of the floor boards, running water, and the door opening beyond, a barely audible step came down the hallway, down the stairs. What were the habits of these vampires? There were activities in the house the moment he opened his eyes. Remus was gone often before he was out of his room. Do these blood drinkers need mortal blood? A nagging suspicion filled him that that these vampires did not feed, night after night with their unchanging whiteness. A coven bound by laws devised to fight the current of time; a coven so strangely modern with its scientific rationale. It would not be fair to say that they had nothing in common afterall Marius did make an attempt at the Night Island. But then all of them left soon enough, each not able to tolerate the other's presence. Perhaps they were all too young, too preoccupied with their own obsessions. And why would they want to abandon their individual goals and the pursuit of their individual fulfillments? If there was to be a collective goal, what could that be? For all its perfection, the tenets of the Brotherhood sounded like a simplistic Greek theory. He could not believe it would ever work. He wanted to dismiss it as he had before. Perhaps it was the thought of having to submit himself to some rules. He was never good at them, was he? He revolted against the idea of having to submit to some damned creature who would define his free will, that was not life. The only rules he knew now, the only reliable rules were those of the Savage Garden, the worship of beauty: of a pair of green eyes, and hair the color of the darkest night. To think of it now, if he had come to Louis at his pink of health, he would have missed the opportunity to study and admire the fine bones of this face. Ah, they had such a good start. Even if Louis' memoir was such arrant nonsense, it had sought to open a conversation between them. But there was no resolution to their difficulties. He detected a pattern to their conversation, and it was of hackneyed phrases and trivial complaints. In ways, having confessed in writing, he had many times divorced himself from the need to make an oral statement. They muddled through pretending to know exactly how each other felt but never would speak the truth in their hearts. Would he dare to face the truth, the heart of their problems, their differences? He feared the failures that had plagued his impatience; his selfishness that had forced Louis to desperate measures. And now, what would he do? Having damned Louis once to this living dead, could he draw his fledgling even deeper and further away from the humanity of the living world, to everything he held dear to? Would he want to tilt the delicate equilibrium of the peace that Louis had found in the years on his own? Could he be so selfish as to take away that independence that Louis had gained? Surely it was impossible to himself, and to the trust that Louis had granted him. What would he do?
Finally restless with these thoughts, he had gotten up to change, and he had planted an affectionate kiss on Louis' icy cheeks. "The mark is too shallow." It was Myandar's voice sounding much displeased. "And what do you propose to do, o'elder?" And that was Remus' voice, coy and laced with anger. "Pray do another one, a good one this time." "Why don't I burn the wax, and you do it?" He stepped into the back parlor to see the two vampires bent over the table with various papers. Remus was holding out a stick of wax to Myandar as if it was the most disgusting object that he wanted to be rid of. "You have seen Lauren do this many times," Myandar folded her arms. "Yes, certainly I have-" "Then it's simple; it's a menial task. Surely you are not daunted by it?" "Why would anyone want such a mindless ritual..." "Why indeed!" "You are not suppose to say that! How very rude Myandar," Remus feigned horror and surprise. "I will not continue this conversation if you don't behave yourself," Myandar leveled a stern look at Remus, making certain that he understood what she was saying. "See, I am doing your supreme bidding. I am your obedient servant," Remus' eyes twinkled with glee. "The matches Remus," Myandar pointed to the white cover of a book of matches decorated with the script of the Saint Clare. "I won't burn the whole house down, you always like to overreact," Remus muttered disagreeably. "I can help you with that," Lestat said, hardly able to suppress the smile on his lips. "Timely help " Remus perked up instantly, his ebullience was infectious, Lestat felt like laughing. "This is such poor excuse Remus," Myandar frowned at Remus. "You should not help him Lestat." "A small gesture," he replied and could see from the set of Myandar's expression that she was not exactly displeased; she could be likened to a mother trying to control her hyperactive child. He held out the burning match for Remus to touch the wax to the tiny flame. A drop of red fell on the paper. It would seem Remus was going to discard the stick of wax and get his seal at that very moment. "You need more than that." Remus nodded, his brow drawing together in concentration, and he put the wax to the flame again until there was a dollop collected on the paper. Lestat blew the match out while Remus picked up one of the two rings on the table; it was a signet ring, he could tell from its ornate flat disc. Remus pressed the embossed disc to the drying wax with care. Then with tense expectation the Roman bent lower to scrutinize his handiwork. That silver ornate ring- Lestat stared at the ring on the index finger of Remus' left hand as the Roman was busy pushing the cascade of his long hair from his face. He had seen that before... "Perfect," Remus smiled, well pleased with his work, and he bent to kiss the seal with ceremony. Meanwhile Myandar was comparing the seal with the documents on the table, the stack of legal documents were each initialized with seal and an elaborate signature. "This is the one then," she said with satisfaction. She put aside the paper and passed a lacquered case for Remus to store the ring. "Take care of the other ring Remus." Remus picked up the second ring, handling it like a fragile object. From his dark leather bag, he had taken out the same familiar velvet pouch, producing the very trinket case and he had kept the ring with care. "A mortal procedure that needs to done in Anton's absence," Myandar was explaining to him. "I will need to go now." He watched Remus go with Myandar to the door; they were speaking softly in their language. Remus returned to the room in a moment. He was in high spirits and it showed in his face. "I hear that Anton is getting better?" he asked politely to get the conversation started. "We can now anticipate progress in Anton's condition." It did not escape his notice that Remus had rephrased his question. "Myandar asked me to tell you that we will be moving out very soon." "Moving... as in you are going back?" this was unbelievable, he was not sure that had heard right. "We have intruded for long enough and disrupted the peace in this house," Remus hesitated slightly before continuing. "It is only fair that we leave." "Why the sudden decision? I'm sure we have worked out the difference." "Myandar has told me it will be difficult... I meaa to say we don't want to impose on you our way of... our issues and difficulties if you will," Remus seemed to struggle with his French a little, as if he was going to say more but could not express them in words. "I might not be the most pleasant host but we are very happy to have your company, both yours and Myandar," he said not able to think of more at the spur of the moment. "You don't need our company Lestat, talk to Louis." Remus was doing it again. His voice was so gentle, the expression on his face guileless and ethereal, he needed neither spells nor preternatural persuasion; there was such sincerity in his words. "Lestat," Remus said suddenly, sharply. It snapped him out of the spell, or trance, or whatever it was. "I don't mean... to do that..." Remus actually looked embarrassed as he did the very first time, he made as if he would reach out to touch the younger vampire, a small gesture of apology but he withdrew uneasily. "That was not a trick of the mind, is it? A spell to dazzle and confuse?" he asked Remus recovering from the moment of distraction. "No," the Roman walked to the table to tidy up the papers. It appeared as if Remus was nervous! Most queer... "If it's not a spell, what is it? It might not even be you?" "You are sound of mind Lestat, don't worry," Remus smiled, he pulled out a chair to sit. "It's the way that each of us are made, I suppose that will be the best answer I can give you." "Hmmm, and you know you have this gift?" he was curious. "I'm a diplomat as I said. But yes, to answer your question, I know that very well." "Have you done this to Myandar before, if I may so ask?" he really had to ask this, and he could see the laughter going to Remus' eyes. "A long time ago, yes," Remus pursed his lips to feign seriousness. "Don't tell her I said that, she will be angry with me." Remus shifted his head, his eyes moving slowly as if he heard something. "I need to be going. Perhaps we will talk more later," he pushed the chair back to place and flashed a bright smile. "Remember what I said." Remus tapped his temple lightly as he left the room. A gift indeed. The power to make even the devil do his bidding! Lestat laughed shortly about his own thoughts, and what was the devil doing now? Remus had opened the upstairs door, he heard him enter and if he concentrated hard enough, he could hear the low pulse of life from the vampire Anton. He wondered what would happen now that Anton was getting better. Louis was still not out yet. He went to check presently, and found the room empty. Louis had obviously left while he was engaged in conversation with Remus and Myandar. Why was Louis avoiding him? What exactly was the conversation about with Myandar the night before? What did she tell Louis that had made him so agitated? He set out to look for his fledgling. Talk to him, yes, and be patient and calm. He loved Louis too much to be impatient, and he would not want to make the very same mistakes again, would he? Halfway into Rue Bourbon, it started to rain unexpectedly. Everyone was running for cover, diving under small shelters. Strangers huddled together and were barely able to keep dry. A curious display of comradeship prevailed as everyone made room to accommodate others. This was different from the common selfish indifference in a crowd of faces, of people rushing through their lives uncaring and obsessed with their own petty concerns, in a world of hostilities, of monsters they would never know. Mortal warmth beckoned him but he moved on with his search; there was only one he was concerned about. By the next hour, scouring streets and back alleys, he had ascertained that Louis was not in his usual haunts. Where had Louis gone? There was barely two hours left till sun up. Perhaps there was only one last place which he had not searched. He did not think Louis would be there but he would have to try. The rain poured, lashing mercilessly at the dark towering oaks, which rustled and moved violently. He entered the park. He could hardly see in this rain but he knew this place, he knew it so well at the back of his mind. Yes, he knew even the taste of its bitter earth, the creatures which slithered in the ancient swamp since the beginning of time. Oh, he knew. Waking with a lung full of putrid water... Would anyone ever forget that? The path he chose through the absolute unyielding blackness was visible only in snatches of illumination as the lightning flashed, followed by earth shattering cracks of thunder. And he saw what he was looking for. Like modern floodlights, lights of the day, with such startling clarity he saw Louis. Sitting on a park bench, looking lost and disconsolate, elbows on his knees and his face hidden by the stark whiteness of his hands, Louis did not hear him approach. "Louis." The dipping head shot up in an instant, there was a dull shocked look stamped across Louis' face. The green eyes were wide, unnaturally glassy and sightless as if consciousness had left and this was only a beautiful shell. "Come home," his own voice sounded tiny in the rain, lost in the wind. Rain was running down the pallid flesh, and the black hair was pasted to the high forehead. Finally Louis roused himself only to turn away. "I'll be along..." "Tell me what's the matter," he was afraid for Louis; he pictured a glass in his hands, these wet hands which could accidentally shatter it, simply enough. But Louis was seemingly absorbed in thought; he sighed moving to shove his hair back from his face. "What did Myandar mean yesterday?" he asked, feeling the first impatience gnawed his nerves. He could almost feel Louis' suffering helplessness and passivity. He could not tolerate this! Before he knew it, his arm was out before him pressed against his fledgling's chest, and he pushed Louis back roughly against the bench. There was a look of utter astonishment on Louis' face; he had not in his life expected this, surely not after so long. Lestat chest was heaving, his anger cresting, and the blood raising to his skin so that despite the cutting coldness of the rain; he felt a raging heat burning in his face. "Tell me!" at this point, he could no longer hold back his anger. Louis stared ahead without the slightest acknowledgment of what he saw, the shock drained from his face, leaving him even more bereft of expression. After what seemed like minutes, he shifted, averting his eyes. Oh, he knew this too well! There was some terrible inner struggle going on in Louis' head, some dilemma, some tenacious question which consumed every thought in his fledgling's waking hour. "For the love of God, look at me and talk!" That drew another amazed look from Louis, it looked as if he had taken a physical blow. "Do you think it's better that I ask Myandar?" "No." A response finally. The green eyes darken, and the lines of expression, of distress appeared and disappeared. "I could do that-" "No!" the dark brows drew together in defiance and anger. "I thought as much, then talk Louis, tell me," he stared into Louis' face, trying to inject all the authority into his gaze as he drew back to stand, to wait. Moments past, the rain fell unabated and heavy. His hands were freezing; his face, the still sensitive skin all over his face was numbed more from dread than from the cold. Louis sighed deeply, finally looking up at him wearily. He probably knew by now that his maker would have nothing short of a proper answer. It was cruel, heartlessly cruel to Louis, but he had to do this, he simply could not stand for Louis' passivity; he had to know! Myandar the night before. "It was uncalled for, our questions... I was the one who had put this upon Remus, upon them. And even then, I had mocked him..." Louis' face was even more pinched and drawn, the pained sadness growing to shock, as if in speaking he understood what he was thinking about, he realized the full meaning of his words. This was incredulous. Nothing about Remus' demeanor said that he was at all interested in Anton's condition. Remus was always casual and detached. "Remus would have his reasons for not telling us everything, he never once showed he was concerned. Are we to imbibe from his indifference that he has the slightest care?" Lestat said challengingly. "You were there, you knew the way he talked, the answer he gave. Whatever the case might be, we are not meant to know." Louis did not seem to understand this. He did not speak. "What Remus wouldn't say, we should leave it as such," he said becoming agitated by Louis' silence, it was always so difficult! "That vampire saved your life, and yes, granted it's a misfortune but for all that's happened, he is alive and he will live as Remus said." "Let me... think on this," Louis stood up unsteadily, an unshakable weariness about him. "He will live Louis, do you hear me? That's more important than your morbid thoughts. Or is it some mortal notion of yours? A debt of honor and all that rot?" he glared at his fledgling. "Oh yes, I almost forgot, you were the one who would find reasons to honor duels, call a man out for paltry misdemeanor. You would know all the etiquette of a gentleman!" Louis stared at him in disbelief which turned quickly to angry frustration and he turned to leave. Lestat grabbed Louis' arm, turning him bodily so that they were eye to eye; Louis did not fight him. "Call me insensitive, a fiend, a monster, I don't care but stop this foolishness this very moment Louis!" He was tempted to shake Louis, put some sense into him; curse his weakness, his mortal obsessions. "Ah, how can I?" the words were a whisper. "How can I when I am no more than you are, a fiend, a monster?" Lestat fought the tide of anger; he wanted to hurt this green-eyed demon! He could have crashed and destroyed this, his tormentor, his flesh and blood. Good God! Could he ever bring himself to harm the ones he loved? He pulled Louis to him, embracing him close, discovering that the trembling was not from his cold fingers but Louis.
He took them up to his Rue Dumaine penthouse, it was a preferred option than returning to the town house, and he did not think Louis would want to see either Blood Drinkers. He did not think he wanted to do that either. Unlocking the door, he had stopped short of the doorway. It was different. His preternatural eyesight pierced the darkness perfectly; indeed he could see the furniture, the vibrant colors of the wall where the same paintings still graced them. Yet the walls, the furniture, even the carpet, the furnishing had been changed. It was filled with a warm coziness; he liked it instantly for its rustic simplicity and comfort. He was in the middle of the room, having wandered in without even a thought or decision. He turned back to see Louis leaning against the frame of the door. He ignored the pools of water left on the carpet as he guided his fledgling in, closing the door behind. Gently he seated Louis on the edge of the bath. How chilled and emaciated Louis looked. If only it was not so close to dawn, he so wanted to let Louis feed, the blood would have warmed him up, perhaps give his suffering fledgling some measure of comfort. The vague and disorientated look on Louis' face drew such pain and protectiveness from his heart. It brought to fore the love he felt from the very first moment he saw that recklessly drunk young man walking belligerent and unescorted down the dark and deserted lane. Lestat went back to the room. The panels were new, and the finishing a satiny walnut. He would have admired the distinct grain of the wood for hours if there had been time. Opening the panels, he found that the closets were still in their old places, and what a surprise to see the neat stacks of plastic sheathing inside. All his clothing was packed in these commercial wraps apparently to keep out the dust, how very sensible. He unzipped a few bags for some towels which he brought back into the bathroom. Louis looked entirely lost to the world, as he sat there, not having moved even an inch from where he was seated. Lestat set about pulling off the soaked leather boots, peeling away the dripping wet clothing. He could not help but stare at Louis' shoulder, long parallel claw marks left by that accursed behemoth. These would disappear in time but what of the memory of that violent episode? Louis would never speak of how he felt; he had too much pride to divulge such things. Carefully he dried Louis' hair and face, then gently half guided and helped his fledgling to bed. Louis needed little coaxing, his eyes unseeing, his body pliant and vulnerable. "Sleep," Lestat muttered kissing the eyes close, and pulled the covers up to Louis' chin. Louis slipped into a deep sleep very quickly. The sun was coming for him as well. He checked the draperies, the locks and the various mortal alarms that would keep out any unwanted intruders in the day. He stood opening the curtails, a silver of the barest light seeped in, it was still bearable. He peered at the sky, marveling at its shade of gray and the hint of coming blue. It hit him then that the rain was no more. There was only a heavy white mist shrouding the city, he knew it would be dispersed the moment the sun was up, its brilliant rays would pierce the blanket of dampness and there would be light. He removed his own wet clothing, relieved to be rid of them, then snuggled close to Louis to sleep. He felt an exhaustion of his body yet how alert his mind was, filled with the events of the day. He was only too glad that the sun would force him into the dead sleep. So Remus had concealed the truth from them. What were the Roman's reasons? Why say that this was a test like a task assigned to him by his elders? But somehow he trusted Remus, trusted him enough to believe that there were certain grains of truth in what the Roman said. There would not be an outright lie. Or could there be? Nobody could see through that mask, that face of a saint! Notwithstanding all he felt, he knew that they were wrong in their estimation of Remus. Hadn't Myandar told them quite directly that they wrong? What was so secretive about the Brotherhood? Or was he reading too much into the script?
Chapter 13 / The Pandora Box As it was, he was a man of action always. He was never patient, he could never wait for answers to present themselves to him. When he opened his eyes this evening, an indistinct plan had formed in his mind. And he decided to proceed with the course of action even when he was tempted to stay by his fledgling's side, even if he knew and relished the fact that he and he alone could see the peaceful look of utter contentment on Louis' slumbering face. He planted a light kiss on Louis' brow before leaving the flat. There was a sense of urgency in him to find the answer to that insistent question. It simply could not wait. A ribbon of purple and gold was disappearing at the skyline. The last light of day was dying even as the artificial glow of electricity came to life in the eternally bustling street of downtown. The sun rise, the sun set. Life went on relentlessly, cold and indifferent to the vampire who lived cocooned in a void, isolated and protected. Could there be a way for the preternatural beast to join his brothers? Like the way the electrical lights brighten the darkened sky? And each of them carried a single candle, illuminating a tiny corner of this vast plain, joined together in a web of flame. Surreptitiously he descended from the sky to the rooftop open-air cafe of the St. Clare Hotel. Nobody saw him as he opened a corner door, and went down the fire exit. Through some mind reading razzle-dazzle he located the private guest wing, accessible only by means of an exclusive member's plastic card that had an electronically programmed magnetic strip, or the key of the security guard. It was an arrangement that could come in use when he traveled the world again, to see the sights with new eyes, to bring Louis with him to Paris... The city of light. He would have to return soon enough and this time with Louis. The tight security provided a natural barrier to mortals but to an immortal like him, it stood as little challenge. He gained entry through a top floor window easily. As he stepped into the posh long hallway, Lestat found himself pleasantly transported back in time. Behold the rich and vibrant stripe wallpaper, adorned with the most priceless tapestries. He took his time to look at each objet d'art, urns of aged metals and clay carved with the most interesting motifs. Everything demanded his attention and admiration. This was a world of its own, and it reminded him more of the private residence of a man of affluence than a dime a dozen modern hotel establishment. What manner of a man was the vampire Anton, this period loving yet modern blood-sucking monster? Not a soul stirred in the various suites. He opened the first door. What was he looking for? Corporate and sterile. It was no different from the way most hotels looked to him, polished, impersonal, a total contrast to the warmth of the hallway. Even in the semi-darkness he saw the all too familiar satchel, the one Louis had brought back that first night, the one that had belonged to Anton. The laptop cast an eerie blue veil of light on the papers and bound volumes on the table. He walked over to look at the screen. No translation came to his mind, it was a language he was not familiar with, nor could his superior brain decipher it. The strict order of everything was like the perfect photo images of business offices; this could only mean that Myander used this room. He left for the next room. It was a variation of the same precise elegance; only that it was cluttered, there were suitcases strewn at the front of the low bed; cases filled with clothing's. Here and there he could see full suits of jackets and shirtsleeves, dress pants and leather boots. Remus' usual wardrobe. How very convenient. Myandar and Remus merely shipped their luggage in from elsewhere and nobody would have suspected of anything at all. There were no other tenants on the same floor. Lestat went up one more level and found himself in an enormous penthouse suite. Wide expanse of burgundy carpet covered the parlor, and yet it was sparsely decorated with very elegant looking furniture with the softest white leather upholstery on walnut finished frames. In place of a table, there was a chest in the parlor. It was not a Chinese chest as these were often like to be but of Asianic design that looked Grecian. Yes, Grecian as he could imagine Pandora led down to earth by her immortal creator with such a chest, filled with a baleful gift for man2... Dining area. A meeting room. A large bouquet of fresh lilies, that was the reason for the sweet fragrance clinging to the air. He found the bedroom, a monstrously huge room, all prepared for a guest; from the cut flowers, dainty drops of handmade chocolate at the nightstand, the meticulous order of the clothes hanging in the closet. These clothes of bespoke elegance smelt of freshly opened parcels from the boutiques, it was as if they were never worn before; the clothes of vampires who purchase and discard. The anteroom was a study and here he could see it had been utilized most recently. Bits of receipts and paper were clipped to legal envelopes with the name "Ballard & Coles" printed on them. He caught a whiff of the lingering smell of dank blood; it was coming from the receipts. Anton's blood. There were a few copies of books on the table, commercial guides of New Orleans and a hand written note from the hotel manager, it was dated thirteen days back... Anton had indeed stayed here as Remus said. Lestat let his eyes pass over everything as if he had gained some insight, a new perspective of everything. Ah, what was he looking for exactly? What had been that insistent question? He was looking for something... Shreds of evidence. Evidence to show what? That they were lying to him? That the Brotherhood merely contained power hungry beasts out to play their grand and evil schemes on man and vampire alike? Ah, sweet reason. Why would Myandar or Remus deceive them, and to what ends? Reason. His mind was a whirl. Oooo, he would not believe in the word of reason. He would not... would not believe it, not any more! He wavered, grabbing the doorframe before he went down to his knees, trying to catch his breath. "I won't take this!" He was out of the hotel and he was running as if Memnoch was at his heels with the Helpful Dead! His heart was about to burst when his feet struck the hard flags of Rue Royale. In moments he was past the carriageway, and going up the steps; she was there, she was inside all right. Throwing open the door, he stepped into the back parlor, glaring at the female vampire sitting at the table, her hands folded neatly on the table, as if she had been waiting for him all this time, it made him even more furious than ever. "Lestat." "Speak the truth, who are you and what do you want with us?" She looked at him calmly. "What do you mean? What do you want to know?" "You know that, you can read my mind! Damn you! Stop acting, stop the pretense." "You feel we are lying to you?" "Why tell Remus to create that story, that impression, all that kindness and reasonable appeal? I don't doubt your coming here was long planned for whether or not Louis agreed to Remus," he was half surprised that his voice was low and still controlled. "For whose benefits, for whose advantage you have done this? What are you playing at?" "I don't refute that Remus asked to come..." "I couldn't give less of a damn! Just answer to the question!" "The decision on how to handle this, was Remus'." "Handle, you mean handle us? You mean like pretending indifference? I don't give a damn for your fanciful philosophy but what right do you have, treating us in this condescending manner? By whose rights?" Myandar's eyes widened, she seemed to look just a little perplexed, just a little mystified. "Who is the one who has given you this gift?" That caught him somewhat off guard. "Why in the world would you want to know?" he said coldly. "Does it make life so insufferable?" What in Hell was that? Myandar was ignoring him completely by imposing her own questions. In a cold and sarcastic voice, he flung his words back "You tell me, living your contrivance of a life, playing God and fortune over so many. You make them feel grateful; your bloody magnanimous gestures, your sagaciousness. You do that to your own people, don't you? The rank and file, those like Remus and Anton. I see how you've already cast these poor bastards in a prison of their minds, what do they know about self-will?" the anger was like molten metal in his blood. "The Brotherhood is a servitude, that is not short of slavery is it? And you would make the world your board for play as well? You would do the very same to us?" "You need not understand our purpose, our principles, you need not like them-" "And by God they are doggerel, a hideous hoax that you perpetuate. And you, you're no better than monsters like us!" "You are full of contradictions and suspicions." "Look, I'll decide on that!" Myandar looked at him so very calmly, there was no meanness in her expression, and that somehow provoked a violence in him. He wanted to shake the composure out of this creature, to see this monster for what it was: a mindless, indiscriminate killer! No reason. There was no reason. This was the Savage garden, there never had been any reason right from the beginning! What fluent lies he had always told himself, how he had deceived himself! "What do you want with life, Lestat?" Myandar asked, her voice very soft, so softly that he had to strain to catch each word. "What do you seek?" Her words had the strangest effect on him, like a breeze cooling the burning, parched sands of the Gobi. "I..." the words caught in his throat. "I... I will not..." A wave of dizziness forced him to shut his eyes, and for a moment his ears were filled with chaotic noise, the deafening cries and howls, the noxious stench of Memnoch's hell. His body was weightless, plummeting through emptiness; an emptiness that was pure horror because it was inconceivable; because it was the perpetual landscape that he had been caught in for so long... He fought the delirium, feeling that he would roar like a beast to break the chains which bound him, suffocating him, crushing him like the dark and black waters. "I will be no devil's minion... I will not..." he was trembling; his voice was a raspy whisper and not a roar. "I will not serve... I cannot... I will have no part in this madness..." His throat was tight, he could not speak. The blood sweat broke over his body, and his hands came to life suddenly, shaking so badly that he shoved them into his pockets. A handkerchief. Yes, a handkerchief. He brought it out, pressing the softness to his brow, trying to find calmness in this semblance of mortal habit; this habit which having fallen back for the thousandth time, gave him a measure of peace. Lestat watched the white linen turn to pink. He stared at the stain. Then slowly folded the cloth and put it away in his pocket. "I need no reason to see that our presence has caused you pain," Myandar's voice was unobtrusive, and a quiet steadfast calmness controlled her tone. Lestat's eyes traveled to the elder's folded fingers, her white fingers contrasting so sharply with the paper, which seemed yellow in comparison. Does she even need to drink? Then he heard an unmistakable preternatural step coming up the carriageway, brisk and light. The next instant, a very disheveled Remus came through the doorway carrying a leather duffel bag. "What happened here?" Remus asked carefully, a scowl coming to his magnificently flushed face, and he looked from Myandar to Lestat questioningly as he brushed impatiently at the dewdrops clinging to his tangled hair. "We are just talking," Myandar replied in a neutral tone of voice. "I'm sure you are," Remus dropped the bag on the ground and slipped the wind blown coat off, the seams at the side were stretched and ruined by the violence of the wind. The Roman fixed his eyes on him, and Lestat could see so clearly every detail of this mesmerizing face. The infinitesimal widening of the dark violet eyes as all the skin smoothened out so very gradually to form an expression. The elixir enlivened the Roman's flesh, and Lestat could even see the pulse; the veins alive, pulsating with blood. It was miraculous how the hard luminous flesh of a vampire could seem almost malleable but perhaps it was no mystery when the blood had sated the demon that was in each of them. Remus took an involuntary step back, turning to Myandar, as if he knew what had been going on there. "Myandar?" a kind of agitation came to the young face. Could he will himself to make a cruel remark in the face of such naivety, such goodness? Goodness emanating from this creature that was even more intimately linked to him than the serial killers he had stalked and murdered; his brother, a fellow killer who had the purity and beauty in spirit of a saint. He could not even begin to describe the feelings in himself, the utter conviction that he felt instantly at ease, and comfortable in this stranger's company as the time when he was that young and impulsive rogue who had his chance meeting with Marius in those early idealistic years. "Words my brother, what do they mean?" Remus muttered. The blood fused hands closed on his, the heat assailed him. Lestat's senses were overwhelmed by a myriad of sensations, of feelings he could not completely understand. And his head was swimming with a sudden slowness. Like a newly made fledgling, he saw everything with a sudden clarity; colors, the details of the objects in the room, they were strikingly more vivid: everything was never more sharply focused. The blood quickened in his veins, a distinct path through every vessel of this body, he felt every particle of his being. How very clear his head was. "You suffer..." Remus whispered so gently as he withdrew, removing his hands. Lestat could still feel the heat on the skin of his face, the pulse of life beating in that smooth marble-like flesh. And unnatural as it was, there was something in this being that made him recognize and acknowledge it; it was that vitality and vivaciousness, that living force in Remus. This was the Savage Garden where the vampire roamed free... "How do you do this? How do you know?" he knew neither reason nor explanation; it was his heart, this evil heart that was responding to another. Lestat felt a sense of deja vu, this feeling was so much like the time when Memnoch had taken him away, to that spiritual realm between heaven and earth, where he had felt one with the multitude, where he had caught a glimpse of that connection, that network, that web... the songs of souls. Oh what pain it was to bring up this memory. And he felt such a hunger in his soul. But this was not the common hunger; it was not the hunger for blood. "I can empty the cup that is filled," Remus said quietly, kindly. "You could have bend us to your will then," Lestat said, he did not feel muddled or confused, he knew what was happening. But he still could not understand how Remus had done what he did. "Remus is concerned about you Lestat." He turned to look at Myandar, and Lestat was surprised that he did not feel the slightest hostilities toward her now, indeed he saw her now as one with righteousness, as one appealing for reason and understanding. "Is the entire Brotherhood filled with vampires like you?" he asked Remus. "Actually there are not many in the world at large, children like Remus," Myandar answered him. "What a pleasure to know my kind is becoming extinct," Remus laughed but he did not look amused. "And what's that? Is there a difference between us, between you and Myandar?" he asked curiously. "Remus just feels that he should help you and Louis," Myandar said in an infinitely gentle soothing voice. "You will not answer me?" he asked politely now, for what other tone could he use? Belligerence would seem like a sacrileges act. Remus' face was filled with uncertainty; he looked at Myandar, waiting for her, asking her without words. "You know the answer well enough Lestat," Myandar said reasonably. "As the mortals of the day say, it's a trick of nature, of variants and factors, conditions; call it what you will, it is everything that make us what we are." He nodded. He knew at the bottom of his heart that that was not the complete answer, he could see it in Remus' eyes. Perhaps they had not wanted to burden him with irrelevance, with things that could never connect to his world, his perspectives, and reasons. Remus had mentioned this a at certain other time... That might be the answer to everything. What he saw, what he heard, they were a version of truth... Ah, the question for himself would really be, was he ever ready for the truth that he had sought so often?
The cheer of the nightly crowd at Cafe du Monde filled the rooms, it dispelled the shadows and brought in the light, it showed the stains of dirt and mud on the plush carpet. Softly he opened the bedroom door. Thoughts, reasons, words; did they mean everything in his universe? In retrospect, they had caused him so much pain. Tonight he had felt as if he had been given a sudden revelation; something which he had not fully grasped yet. But it was like a tune playing at the back of his mind, new yet endearing. He slipped into the soft bed. "Time to get up and hunt," he whispered in his fledgling's ear. "Or do you intend to wait till it rains again?" "I don't think it will..." his lover muttered still half asleep. "Hmmm," to taste this skin. The memory pierced his mind of the nights he coaxed and cajoled Louis from his unaccountable habit of sleeping in his coffin long after the waking hour. Or at least unaccountable until he read Louis' memoir. "You're just going to wait till it rains then the carpet will be ruined." "Such affection already?" Louis uttered the words so softly. He pressed his lips to the long and uncut silken black hair, and bestowed tiny kisses along the graceful line of the high cheekbones, the fine curl of the rich black lashes. And finally breaking to take that very much anticipated study of his lover's eyes. It was a pleasure to attempt to decipher the exact shade of the dark colored pupils, or to admire how it diffused into the lightest green. Their exchange of breath, the seeking hands on his flesh was delectable and familiar. Lestat felt his every fiber burning with a heightened sensitivity, with the acute sense of being with this lithe and beautiful creature. This was not the brief and clamorous union of mortal love, nor was it the chaotic pilfering of a victim's blood and life, the plundering of memories. This was an eternal union of minds, of souls... He felt a cold wetness on his ear suddenly, rather like an unwrung towel. "Good God!" Louis exclaimed. And Lestat glanced up right into a pair of inquisitive brown eyes. "No Mojo!" Louis put his hands up to close that offending mouth. The dog panted and sat back just behind Lestat. "What an impolite thing to do, that's unforgivable," Lestat sat up looking Mojo in the eye, trying to be annoyed. But the large eyes were regarding him and Louis so calmly. Mojo's ears gave a tiny movement and he cocked his head questioningly. "I'm appalled," Lestat feigned indignity, touching the back of his hand to his forehead in an act of consternation, and affected the mincing speech of a flippant aristocrat denouncing his best friend's valet for vile behavior. "How is it, that you never taught him something more about discretion, and etiquette, and manners?" Louis eyed him with faint surprise but could not hold back the inevitable chuckle. It was hilarious, and he could no longer hold back. How else could one react on such occasions really? Their laughter inevitably made Mojo excited and the dog was trying to lick their faces. "That's quite enough," he smiled kissing Mojo on his muzzle, then guided the dog down from the bed. "Have you been letting Mojo romp around the bed?" Lestat asked in a mock accusing tone. "That has something to do with me?" Louis' dark brow quaked. It was enticing how those lips lengthened into an irresistible smile. Lestat was drawn to them. "I need to be going," the green eyes were dark, filled with unspoken feelings. "Of course," Lestat nodded, he wanted to say it with indifference, but it came out sounding disappointed and unhappy. A bittersweet smile came to Louis' lips, the affection and love in those green eyes was no less than before when Louis leant forward to press a kiss to Lestat's cheek. The divine happiness Lestat felt was almost too much, it brought tears to his eyes and he wrapped his arms about Louis, holding his fledgling close. A few precious minutes of peace and silent communion. He wondered vaguely to himself quite suddenly if the created beauty, Pandora, ever realized her role as the one who had helped Zeus in completing his selfish vengeance against Prometheus, against the entire mankind; or was she only a blind accomplice, a marionette on strings, without thought and conscience2. The closets were the same as he found out the night before. It was easy to find what he wanted as he recalled, after all the vampire's mind captured memories like they were etched in stone; irritably undeletable. He laid out the whole requisite modern apparel for Louis, having selected a light gray velour shirt, and dark tailored pants. While Louis was slighter in built, that was not significant in an age where people were like to attire themselves in ill fitting assortments of rags; this might not be all that snug but the cut would suit Louis fine. Lestat patted Mojo and went to the parlor. He took a good few minutes to appraise his new parlor furniture. While the style and smooth finishing was traditional, there was a modern feel to everything. As with most modern product designs, functionality had priority over aesthetics. Nothing was made without consideration for its functional role, furniture were not mere decorative pieces, as most tend to be previously. He liked excesses, he liked glided wood and rich velvet; but even so he was won over by the fine comfort of everything he saw. The settee and bergieres were inviting with their matching cushions, the softest fabric with hand-stitched patterns. He puffed up the cushions, arranging them for his comfort before finally easing into the seat, digging one booted foot to the seat and settled the heel of his other boot at the edge of the table. Completing this important task, he switched on the television- the large screen television had been hidden in a tall, tastefully selected armoire. The idea delighted him tremendously. He was not in any way attracted to the noise and moving images. But then the colorful array of displays from the European fashion houses drew his attention soon enough. Flamboyant and outrageous by conventional standards, he found their innovative use of fabrics and colors interesting. Then again, he could not say as much for the parade of underfed mortals showcasing the clothing's. But it amused him that these displays have somehow provoked discourse on male vanity. Indeed it was assumed at this age that narcissistic inclination was the exclusive right of female creatures. The white powdered wig gentlemen with their manicured fingers and mincing steps, clad in satin skins and lace, would surely have given these modern so-called liberal minded mortals pause for thought. Certainly any man who had to spend a great part of his daily hours debating over the merits of assorting satins to cambric shirts; mechlin lace to waistcoats; the English to the Italian full bottomed wigs; and fashion statements like the redundant and much over-used snuff boxes and quizzing glasses; all these would require a certain degree of vanity. What more can one say about them, children of that extravagant and excessive period of the Rococo. Hadn't Louis spend enough time in his mortal years preening? Never mind that Pointe du Lac was less than a perfect palatial heaven, the fact was all the plantation lords were princes of their own right. Louis being a nonpareil of the then backwater French colony, must live up to public expectations; he had to spend many hours a day engaged in deep discussions with his half-witted Parisian trained valet, reviewing the assortment of clothing he would like be seen in. But then, Louis' vanity was nothing compared to one Lestat de Lioncourt! He would nonetheless credit Louis for his impeccable taste, his eye for dependable elegance. He craned his neck to watch Louis walk out of the room with Mojo at his heel. Louis always had a way of looking immaculate even if he insisted on wearing the costumes of disaster victims; or as he so puts it, the clothes of mortals and not vampire refuse, the indulgence in fine dressing. Remus and the entire Brotherhood probably generated a very substantial amount of vampire refuse with their excesses. On the other hand, this was the perfect age of excesses, as much as the Rococo had been. And when was it that Louis started to neglect everything? He never quite knew since he had always been overly impatient about herding his fledglings to the clothier; obsessed as he was then only with the perfection of the three of them as the most fashionable trio in New Orleans. Thinking back, he would say Louis had come willingly only because of Claudia. Their intrepid daughter was the reason why Louis continued to make himself care for so many things which he would have otherwise not be concerned with. Claudia was the defining reason for Louis in so many ways; Claudia was the obligation for everything. Obligation. It was a mathematical equation; an impersonal barrier that he had experienced so often when he talked to Louis... He woke, feeling Mojo shift to sit up. Lestat heard the gate, the clank of keys on the mantel and Mojo's feet brushing the carpet, the sound was more distinct than preternatural steps. He continued his pretense, not moving nor altering the rhythm of his breathing. "Lestat," Louis' voice was low. He caught the scent of fresh blood, hot and aromatic. The hand on his knee felt like a heated brand. A gentle shake. He allowed himself to lift one lazy eyelid to look at his fledgling. "Hmmmm?" Louis looked tantalizing with that deep flush, it made him glow and look superb. "Lestat," Louis sat at the edge of the table, resting his elbow on Lestat's knee. "You'll be more comfortable in bed." "I'm plenty comfortable here," he said sighing with contentment as Louis leant lightly against his leg. He closed his eyes again enjoying this, and the natural quiet of the night that was punctuated by the occasional random sounds from the streets, from the cafe across. "Do you want me to call David?" He opened his eyes slowly to look at Louis. This was an unexpected question. "David is with Marius..." "I know, you told me this," he said as he tried to read Louis' expression. "Or do you want to wait till Remus and Myandar leave with Anton?" "Are you still uneasy with them?" he lifted his brow. "No," Louis drew in a deep breath, looking away. "Or maybe we can go somewhere else, away from here, we can come back when they have left." "I understand their generosity Lestat, I wouldn't think to do that." "Louis, they will understand." "But will you want that?" Louis smiled. "And where do you stand?" he asked gently, undemanding. "I'm curious about the Brotherhood. Honestly saying, they represent an ideal coven that goes against the grains of everything I've known, of everything I've seen and heard. I want to hear more, to know more from Myandar..." Louis hesitated somewhat, "I want to talk to Remus..." "And what would you do about Remus?" "I truly can't say," Louis gave a sigh, pressing his fingertips to his lower lip, the frown deepening. He studied Louis. To study this face without generalization, without half remembered images but truly to open his eyes to see each feature, like an artist scrutinizing his subject, without discrimination; without overplaying the beauty of the eyes over the nose, the set of the eye brows to the curl of the long lashes, the texture of the lips to the softness of the arch of the half-closed eye lids... Oh yes, he knew the green eyes were wide set, the eyebrows like straight lines, perfectly symmetrical. And the shadows sketching the cheekbones to clarity, the skin contouring the face tightly to show the fine appearing and disappearing lines of expression. The details of this face served to give Louis the classical look of a people he knew all his mortal life. There were hundreds of details he committed to heart, and would never put on paper. Every man and vampire knew the one who broke the laws, who slayed the fools in the Theatre d'Vampires had black hair and green eyes, and spoke with a French accent, and was extraordinarily beautiful. That would probably have turned up a few dozens of such a vampire after all these years. In keeping everything to the minimal, he had always made sure he protected the anonymity of the vampire Louis de Pointe du Lac; no rogue of some modern coven would ever identify Louis. Louis would not have been able to compare to his maker, but he was more than powerful enough compared to any vampire in the streets. Unconscious of his strength, never actively using his powers indeed, but contrary to common circulated information, Louis had never been weak. To stay up past the sleeping hours of every recreate, and when the sun was rising, the white mist barely shrouding the Parisian morning... He wondered if anyone had ever put two-and-two together to see from whence Louis had drawn his strength that faithful morning he struck out at the band of phantoms in the theatre. If Louis had more ambition and aggression, imagine what manner of vampire he would be with the blood of their Queen and Marius in his veins? His subdued student had probably unrivaled this in that ever articulate mind, and understood that the essence of his pain might very well be that in accepting his wayward maker's blood, he had become an unwilling acolyte to Her shrine; the inheritance of that ancient thirsting spirit... Ah, had he not given himself the most eloquent reason why Louis would never again touch this accursed blood? "Lestat." He startled awoken, his mind had been wondering. "Let me take you to the room, you're tired." He detected a trace of anxiety in Louis' voice. "What with walking the God forsaken streets in that damned rain. Can I please induce you to have a consideration for me and my carpet the next time?" "I shall endeavor not to disappoint," Louis nodded, trying to keep a straight face but was obviously failing. You're mocking me, that's what you're doing Pointe du Lac. You cannot think to salvage your tarnished reputation with such a poor attempt to bribe the devil?" "Of course I wouldn't think to do such a thing surely," Louis laughed soundlessly. The color in Louis' face was alluring. He longed to trace with a finger the tender crinkling of flesh at the corners of Louis' eyes. What he would give the world to take his fledgling in his arms, to assure him, to soothe the anxiety and fatigue that showed so clearly. Indeed Lestat realized this few days had been one long drawn ordeal for his black haired companion. And who was the one who had insisted on embarking on this adventure? He felt the sadness coming over him even as he let his eyes roam over the furnishing of the room again, "I like this." He let his eyes rest on Louis. Louis nodded with a small smile. "Despite the mud stains." "That's understandable, but nothings permanent." "For the modern world," he spoke in a low voice. "But not for the traditionalist. Perhaps I'm beginning to acquire the most terrible habit, people have to be dead for a hundred years for me to find the affection in them..." "They don't have the capacity to change I should think," a small frown wrinkled the dark brows. "But nothings' like that Lestat." He kept quiet, watching Louis. Louis made as if he would speak, but he did not. There was a deep melancholy emanating from him, threatening to overwhelm him quite without warning like the other night in the storm. The moment grew long. And he waited, wanting so much to speak yet he did not know the words, they would not come. Louis finally looked away, his eyes filled with pain. Their pain was like a mist in the air, suffocating them. What exactly kept them apart? Eyes still averted, Louis let out a long breath. "Rest Lestat," he whispered, patting Lestat's knee as he stood and left. If he had more courage he would have told his fledgling to sit. But did he have that courage to open himself to the inevitable questions which Louis would have for him and was still perhaps, too polite to ask? Polite? Had it anything to do with manners? Was everything merely numb acceptance? Had too much pain and suffering robbed Louis' capacity to feel, to fear, to ask? Can he ever understand fully his fledgling's pain, the extent of his suffering? The sun rise, the set; the course of nature would repeat itself, the inevitable ritualistic dance; only the vampire would be cold, isolated to everything... He roused himself. It was time to take Mojo back to his thriving backyard. And so he held in these cold and unfeeling hands the Pandora box once again... He had opened it once before spewing calamities, a litany of destruction which befell his kind. Dare he hope that the box would yield its most precious gift? Dare he risk another chapter of mystery that would bring about it's inevitable round of irreparable damage and loss. What did he care about consequences? Or perhaps it was time to stop lying to himself.
Chapter 14 / Wisdom "I wanted to give this to you, put it in your hands." "Ah," he stared amazed at the thick leather bound book on the table. It was stitched and bounded by hand all right. It was bounded the same way when books were so lovingly made by the exclusive printing press ages ago when every minute detail, the cover, every sheet of paper, expressed volumes. It could take your breath away just to feel the softness of the leather, almost as pore less as a vampire's skin. He caught himself staring at the back of Remus' hand, at the whiteness of the flesh, the well-manicured fingers and the silver ring at the index finger of the vampire's right hand. "A little portfolio," Remus gestured, sitting back comfortably. "As I promised." Everything about Remus suggested a casual friendliness; the ready smile, the languid grace coupled with that eloquent body language. Early in the evening the Roman had approached him at the Town Square. He did not know if it was common manners or any such which made Remus seem so unaffected, as if their conversation of the day before had never happened. He had followed Remus back to the town house. He never thought it would be this hard to believe only two weeks had past from when he first brought Remus down the same path; it had felt like years had stolen by! "The other day..." Remus looked up at him with a questioning expression on his face. "Why did you help me? Why would you want to offer help to someone outside your precious Brotherhood?" "I do not like to see another suffer." That was a simple answer. Lestat wanted to be serious, he meant to find answers but it was not going in that direction at all. He gave in to the urge to smile half wondering if Remus' mood was affecting him. "But how do you do that? The question is how, what is it that you have done? It is to do with your gift." Remus smiled slowly, a general softening of his entire visage even though his eyes were gleaming with humor. "It's the way I am made. I really cannot explain myself," he shrugged, showing with a small wave of his hand, that all graceful motion it was natural and there was no mystery to things. It was amusing and interesting to talk to Remus actually, he was only beginning to realize this. There was a naivete in this vampire that showed everything, it was as if Remus could not lie. "That was what Myandar said," he prompted. "It's better for you to ask her." "Why are you afraid to disclose these things, is this to do with the rules of the Brotherhood, the collective good, that you cannot make this decision of your own?" he asked with genuine interest, hoping it did not come across sounding demanding or sarcastic. Remus crossed his legs, fidgeting a little with his clothes as he buttoned and unbuttoned his coat and then moving the fingers of his left hand around the heel of his right, lightly smoothing the silver ring. "There are rules of non-interference," Remus explained finally, pronouncing his French with care. "We are not to step into the affairs of the young ones, the mortals." "And do you think telling me these things actually could interfere with my life? Perhaps affect me in some way?" Lestat asked, not believing he was hearing this, this had not even been of the slightest consequence when Marius or Maharet related their tales. Remus shrugged. "There was a time when I would not have cared." "And so?" The older vampire looked him in the eye for a minute. "If you must know," he breathed in deeply, his brow knitting into a neat line above that straight and high Roman nose. "I need not even try, the Blood Drinker's heart speaks to me. I would know." It sounded enigmatic. And the inflection on the French, the way the accents bent to the exertion of Remus' natural speech pattern made it sound like the gentlest caress of the air and the content of those words became quite irrelevant to his examination of this curious phenomenon. Lestat felt the urge to smile, the seriousness of Remus' expression and this declaration of some arcane secret was quite fascination. "Why don't you speak in that language, that's Latin isn't it?" The Roman nodded slowly, a look of pride even bravado spreading over his face. "The most civilized of any language but I should not." "And why is it so?" "I might say more than what I mean." Lestat could not help but give a bark of laughter; that was such an amusing answer, an overly honest answer for that matter perhaps. "But really, tell me," he said trying not to submit to his laughing fit. "You are persistent," Remus lifted his brow, his lips moving with a silent comment to himself. "Would it mean anything to you even if I tell you everything? My friend, you can walk the world over and even then you might never meet another Blood Drinker from the Brotherhood. This is irrelevant." The Roman gave a small private smile, his large expressive eyes becoming just a little sad. "The best part is might I would have disappeared with the winds, like a wisp," his hand described the gentle motions of the winds, the silver scintillating in the parlor lights. "Everyone of us might be gone. Who would know?" Lestat did not understand the full extent of Remus' words, simple yet poignant with some hidden meaning or perhaps it was because he did not know Remus enough. But there was a certain warmth sitting here talking to another one of his kind, having a conversation, talking for the very sake of talking. Yes, to consult and to exchange ideas, to learn in the most natural manner. It was an enjoyment, something he missed entirely too much. This was relaxing on his nerves. He was grateful that Remus was not like the others who were all too eager to demonstrate their wisdom of preternatural age, or the power of an elder. Everyone in his circle of friends from Marius, Armand and yes, even Louis, they were indeed showing their preternatural age, they could not help but pass their own judgment on everything. Almost all of them had been so defeated and scarred, or had let the world shroud them in cynicism; they could not speak without a deeper meaning, a certain significance. They were his closest friends, his confidante, and yet he felt the need to guard his feelings and eventually to totally ignore their questions. He was tired of all their questions. He was tired of explaining; tried of being provocative; he was tired of being on the defensive for being who he was, and for what he did. "Let me just tell you the truth," Remus said quietly, showing such determination as if it had taken much debating to arrive at this decision. "Many of the conservative elders would have preferred to lock me up, nobody wants to cast their lot with me." "How so?" Lestat asked. "Because of your gift?" "And some other things. Many other things." "Because you can manipulate thought then, that's what I am speculating." "Because I can read the truth, the true heart's intentions." "Even though you needn't read thoughts?" he was amazed. "What are thoughts but a jumble of messages, the confused landscape of images which leaves the reader with the liberty to interpret. The heart on the on the hand, cannot lie." "That is uncanny. Must be wonderfully fun to do that," Lestat smiled. "With enough practice and skill," Remus' fingers went to the silver ornate ring again. " To plant the seed of thoughts in unguarded minds, whisper words in the ears of the innocent, to tip the scales of the Cloud Compeller3. It was wonderfully fun as it lasted." Lestat was very much taken by the charisma, the passion that shone clear in those pale eyes and that vibrant voice as Remus lapsed into his archaic Latin, his fluent tongue. This vampire did not wear the venerable laurels of wisdom that the others assumed, they who assumed age accorded them the natural right to judge, to mete out punishments they saw fit. What was age indeed, and what was wisdom? The infinite capacity to despair, to stop trying because one's judgment was based on a thought and years of experience that one so conceitedly refer to as wisdom? But soft, he had questions that he could not overlook. "What say you then of the rules, the regulations of your Brotherhood? What of the grandeur of the plan, the collective aspirations? How do you look at it?" he asked. "I don't think you would identify with the ideas that Myandar subscribe to?" "Most definitely," Remus answered without hesitation, switching back to French instinctively. "Myandar and the elders, the council, they think of everything. They have their ideals, their responsibility to the lives in the Brotherhood, to all who have plagued their trust to follow. The council sees fit what is best." "But is it the best?" "Precisely. It's not always the best..." Remus stopped himself before he went on to say more. He actually blinked and then sat back, visibly composing himself, drawing back mentally and physically. "But you stay on, you listen to Myandar," the question came out unbidden. Remus grimaced; he pursed his lips slightly as if in consternation. "I don't want to speak of this Lestat. We really should go, leave and let you have your peace..." "Surely that's not possible, is Anton better?" Lestat asked sincerely, he certainly did not want Remus to leave just yet. "Lauren..." Remus looked distracted, his eyes were blank as if he recalled something before he recovered himself to continue. "Ah, Anton... perhaps he is better." "Why are you so unwilling to speak more?" again Lestat pressed the point. "A lot things would not make sense to you," Remus muttered his French becoming thickly accented in his distress. "But certainly we can talk of them, I would want to hear about all this," he said. "I feel we are the of the same inkling, lovers of the aesthetics." Remus broke away, his brow wrinkling and he stood up to pace the room restlessly. "What is it?" Lestat did not know what had caused this sudden change. "Lestat there is no deeper meaning, no deeper significance to all this," Remus whispered, he stopped pacing. "Perhaps there isn't, I would not know but-" "I am no scholar or council Lestat," Remus turned to face him, standing away. " I cannot care if the world is devoured by the hounds of Hades. I am no vigilante like that... that fool who went against a Revenant." "Tell me, let me be the judge of that. Those rules cannot mean everything-" "They aren't hard-and-fast rules Lestat." He knew that voice. Lestat turned to see Myandar standing at the doorway; she did not seem at all upset or even stern. In fact there was gentleness in her eyes. "Myandar," Remus went to her, there was a kind of relieve to his voice as he pressed a kiss to Myandar's cheek, winding his long arms about her tightly. Lestat was quite certain that Remus was under duress. One might think Remus was making a complaint to his elder. Imagine being put in a fix by a fledgling a fraction of his age! But the show of affection between the two vampires was endearing and the exchange of words did seem to calm Remus, he returned to his seat looking thoughtful. "You do have many questions for Remus it seems," Myandar said in a kind voice. "Just one really." "I will help Remus with part of your question," Myandar gave Remus a knowing look while the Roman looked impatient and even somewhat resigned. "None of us are restricted nor limited by time. While the community is not small but by the nature of our kind, there really are only so many of us in this world. We have to be accommodating and understanding-" "That also means Myandar might want me locked away for some fault but for the fact that I already have a history such recurrent problems," Remus interjected suddenly wearing a smug deprecating expression aimed especially to aggravate his elder. Myandar was filled with a palpable disapproval as she stared at Remus and the younger vampire guffawed, ignoring her. Ah, Remus could engage in quite a bit of mischief, his spontaneity was enchanting. It was this unassuming manner that made him want to know more about this stranger. Drawing close to David all those years ago, he had been just as curious, filled with so many questions... "It is only natural that Remus should offer his help." Remus gave a short comment to that, the neutrality of his guile less face strangely contradicting with the caustic note in his tone. Myandar gave him a kindly maternal smile. "Notwithstanding all that, you do not need what we say to you," she said in a persuasive voice. "Our world, the utopia I described is not perfect, there are problems and it takes tremendous commitment to maintain the Brotherhood." "So you are saying it is an ongoing process." "Most definitely so. The members have their own thoughts and we must be attentive to them. The Brotherhood is an ongoing dialogue, even if we have known everyone for many years, time changes a lot of thins." "That's about your people in the Brotherhood. So how about us outside your order, let's just look at this, our meeting here, now?" "What of it." she tilted her head questioningly even though the way she said it made it sound like a statement. "There is no significance to you?" he asked. "Don't you see Lestat, what we are to you?" Remus interrupted softly. "And that is?" "We are a concept to you," he leant forward, and then stood up to walk the room. "These books you have, the mortal volumes I see here; those words that you read in the pages, how can they tell you who and what you are? How can you identify with these creatures of such fragility, they being forever at odds with their mortality?" Remus came back to the table, placing his hand on the table; he bent looking down at Lestat. "You see the Brotherhood with that same detachment my friend. You will not be able to accept us for we will only be in conflict with what you believe in. How long will these small discoveries stir your blood? Believe me, it will not be long at all." He could not speak. Remus certainly was capable of speaking more; Indeed Remus was continuously giving him surprises. "Lestat, the important thing is you love your fledgling more than life," Remus whispered, his speaking voice so gentle, the Latin so rich with feelings. "Surely the maker creates in love." "Among other things and reasons," he said, sounding faint to his own ears. "There must be some binding qualities that endears you to him." "There are many..." "Especially his beauty." "Yes," he sighed softly. "There can never be any doubt." "And his shortcomings." Lestat stiffened. He stared at Remus; he had been lulled into Remus' spell without even realizing it and now he was woken rudely, like the touch of a cold hand at the back of his neck; the shock left him with such clarity of mind suddenly. "My Maker told me she wanted a child with tantrums to brighten up her life," Remus gave a conspiring wink. The meaning of the words was lost to him for a moment. Lestat blinked, then gave a wide smile. Remus shrugged with that Italian nonchalance, chuckling. That was like a non-verbal signal to raise the floodgates, like a deluge as the polite chuckles got rapidly out of hand. Oh imagine if Marius ever met Remus, there would have been some unpredictable moments! The laughing did him good, he was heartened and he could see even Myandar was smiling widely. Lestat drew in deep breaths to stop the fit, and brought out his familiar handkerchief to dab away the tears. As sudden as the cheer and laughter, Remus' face turned a shade darker and there was a shadow of sadness there. The Roman turned to look at his elder slowly. Lestat would have wanted to put a word in to ask about Remus but he heard a step from the carriageway, and then a clicking sound. He recognized it and looked up expectantly, it did not take long before a great big dog came half bounding into the room. "Mojo!" he laughed. The dog panted, throwing those great paws on his knees and then he saw Louis just appearing, politely smiling at Remus and Myandar. It was as if he had not seen Louis for the longest time. And only early in the evening at the penthouse, he had wondered if he would find the strength to speak with Louis, and what he should do. Now all he wanted to do was to close his arms about his fledgling. And he took Louis into his embrace, greeting him with small kisses. "I... I was looking for you," Louis smiled a little confused by the attention. "I heard the laughter." There was that twinkle in the green eyes that he so adored. "Nothing like sharing a laughing fit with someone who appreciates one, you were never too enthusiastic," Lestat replied, his smile indulgent as he looked at his beautiful and irresistible lover. How finely made his Louis was. "Should we keep Remus here to coach him on his French, what do you think?" "Remus is proficient," Louis said as he tried to draw his arms away. "But between us we can make him perfect. It will be easy." "Whatever are you saying?" Louis looked at him totally baffled. "How else can we persuade Remus to stay longer? He is quite adamant about leaving soon." "Would that be so?" Louis turned his attention immediately to Remus directly, his attempts to get away quite forgotten. It was always good to enlist Louis to such efforts; he was so much more tactful and persuasive. Lestat slipped his arm about his fledgling's back, so comfortable and happy to be close. "Anton is recovering," Myandar replied. "What in Hades is that?" Remus exclaimed sharply. Mojo had turned his head in the direction where Remus was seated, his ears twitching at the sound of a new voice in the household. Slowly the dog padded round the table to investigate, his eyes sizing up the stranger. Lestat watched in mute fascination as the tall vampire got up hastily and began to back away from Mojo's advancing form, his face took on a look akin to fear. "Get the beast away Myandar, tell it to go away!" Remus voice was a bare hoarse whisper of Latin. Everyone was absorbed in watching all this. A child of the millennia, one who could order the vampire Lestat to his bidding without effort, was backing away from a dog! "It's only a dog Remus, you're old enough to know that." "It's a wild animal, no different from what are in cages," Remus was in a panic, gripping Myandar's arm and moving to stand behind her. "Remus, behave yourself." Mojo cocked his head, becoming more curious as he followed his object of interest. "Tell it to stay away from me, stay away," Remus shifted, his eyes were moving to take his options of bolting from the room or stepping onto the table. But without pre-warning Myandar caught his hand and pulled him forward, offering him to Mojo's muzzle. "No, no don't!" Remus squirmed when Mojo licked him with that ham pink tongue. The intelligent dog eyes seemed to regard Remus with an appreciative light but Remus' face was a picture of agony when Mydandar let him go finally. "Wretched accursed hounds of Hades..." Remus groaned. The list of expletives went on to what was totally unintelligible to Lestat's preternatural brain. "You are excessively pampered Remus, it's only a dog, and a beautiful dog he is." "Barbaric tyrant," Remus seethed, he backed up holding out his hand dramatically. "See what you've done!" "Lauren loves dogs." "That is none of my concern. This, this! How could you do this to me, how could you?" he looked totally disgusted regarding his soiled hand like a diseased limb. Myandar sighed with obvious forbearance, her demeanor becoming stern. "I will call Kronos," Remus moved his left hand, trying to get to his right pant pocket where his cellular phone was deposited. "I will tell him-" "I will wash that hand of yours, how is that?" she pulled his left hand into his, standing up to look at him but the Roman averted his eyes, refusing to meet her eyes until she turned his face toward her. "It can be cleaned you silly child." Remus glowered at her, his scowl deepening. "First you sent me to Paris on an idiot's errand and then to New York in that freezing cold; and in total disregard to reason, to me, you sided that conniving lapdog of a half-breed Achaean who dares claim kinship to Lauren! Now you wound me-" "I will wash your hand, and you will stop working yourself into a tantrum," Myandar's voice was firm but there was a gentleness to it much like a mother placating her angry child. Remus' eyes widened, the coldness there evincing such fury that warranted another verbal assault. Then, it dissipated miraculously and the scowl gradually smoothed out leaving him vulnerable and child-like. "Better." The pacific blue grew dark and the corners of the pouting lips tensed for a second. "I will not forgive you for this," Remus sighed his temper subsiding. "You can call Kronos afterwards to tell him then," she was no less stringent as she looked him in the eye. "Wash my hand please Myandar," Remus hung his head speaking in a soft tender voice, allowing her to kiss his cheek. Myandar turned to them, two young vampires who were both shocked and very much on the verge of bursting out with uproarious laughter. "He is a magnificent creature," Myandar smiled, she gave the dog pat on the head as she passed. Remus caught that immediately. "I saw that!" he grumbled all the way as Myandar led him to the kitchen. Lestat could still hear Remus giving sharp answers to Myandar, begrudging her for letting a dog bestow a vow of friendship! And his polite gentleman friend here was trying to remain steadfastly silent. It really was taking Louis such a colossal effort to keep from keeling over as he convulsed with silent laughter. If he had not enjoyed himself so thoroughly just now, he would not be standing here watching Louis literally laugh his head off, such a liberating experience to watch Louis enjoy himself so much. Even Mojo was all excited. Ah but that you will not do my dog friend, you've had Louis' company for far too long! He kissed Mojo then positioned a chair next to his fledgling, kissing the tears of mirth from the corners of Louis' eyes as his lover sat back trying to recover. Ever helpful, he professed his handkerchief as he shook a finger of mock disapproval at Louis. There was such hearty humor shining in those green eyes. "So whatever has induced you to take Mojo along?" he asked. "Just a turn in the neighborhood," Louis patted Mojo's head, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "You can't blame me, that laughter of yours is unmistakable." "Such flattery. But now you've frightened our guest," Lestat turned to his dog friend. "And you my boy, you have the most extraordinary effect people and vampire alike. Even the vampire Lestat must defer to you." "A good evening to you," Louis stood up presently. "Louis," Myandar was all smiles returning to the room. She was beautiful when she smiled, and her eyes seemed to sparkle with colors. "Where's Remus?" Lestat looked behind her expectantly. "He has gone back to St. Clare. He would rather not face this creature," she laughed softly letting Mojo lick her hand. He noted that her laughter was surprisingly melodious. "We did not mean to-" "There is no need for any worry Louis," she said. "He has much to learn." "For a child of the millennium?" Louis muttered in surprise. "No more than a child nonetheless," Myandar smiled. Was that a joke? Lestat raised his eyebrows. "It's an eternal journey for us. There is always something to be learnt; he has much to learn as do all of us," she said becoming more serious. "We are a small particle of this world where there is always something more fascinating and alluring than a mere Blood Drinker. We should see and learn about all the creations borne from the abundance of Nature's womb." That was a brilliant picture, the perfect Savage Garden. It was a far more simplistic view of the world than he would have it. Undoubtedly Myandar's universe, the rules that governed the Brotherhood were absolutely logical, the elements of the Brotherhood's universe absolutely and infinitely beautiful. So, with ease the Brotherhood had founded itself a niche in the drama of things, the scheme of the natural world beyond justice and capable of condensing the differing forms of thoughts, philosophy that the human race was still struggling to grasp. Vaguely he listened to Louis' conversation with Myandar, snatches here and there of contemporary financial matters, the stock market, the index, the St. Clare shares and warrens... All that rot. And he still did not have the strength to talk to his fledgling truthfully without pretense and excuses. How would it be possible to draw himself away from these creatures that were capable of seducing every thought of his waking hours?
Chapter 15 / Savage Garden A light rain was falling as he walked along the busy walkway, and he could feel the humidity, and the heat that was rising like a current, released into the air from the sun baked flags. Nothing could take away his attention to the fresh smell of the rain on the greenery, on the dry cracking walls, the molding floorboards and the uneven flags, not even the early evening crowd swarming the restaurants. The sum of these tiny details created that true sense of being in New Orleans. But how amusing it was to see the newspapers declaring the exact day when the season would change, so calculative and commercialized, nature was put on a veritable auction block. For him, a secret admirer of hers for these many years, he was aware of the subtle changes in her lustrous soul, from her intimate fragrance that the seasons were achanging. He smiled to himself, ruminating about the minute signs of how one should declare a day in summer, and what should indeed constitute a day in autumn especially in evergreen New Orleans. He loved the subtlety of everything. He loved the fact that he had been her observer, to see her magnificence in different forms in many years past. Indeed in ages past when time did not seem to be stealing by him as it had in the last four years. Now he found himself looking at the streets, the all-familiar architecture of the houses, the quaint details with new eyes; it was as if he had not taken this path for the longest time. He was coming near the Town Square following the flow of the converging mortal crowd, shrouded in the comfort of their happiness, their exuberance could make him forget himself for a moment. There was a distinct calling, very soft and gentle, very polite. And then he saw Myandar a distant away. Their eyes met, and he saw a small smile come to her lips. How beautiful she looked in those soft shirt and modern slacks. "I hope I am not inconveniencing you," she began. "Myandar," Louis gave an easy smile. "I was just walking, making the usual round before I go to the flat. I'll take care not to bring Mojo along- I hope Remus was not offended." "He would probably have forgotten by now that he had ever been offended," Myandar smiled wider, inclining her head slightly to study his face. "There's a word in your language that aptly describes him. He's an enfant terrible, an enfant terrible of the entire institution and to the Brotherhood." "Ah," he did not quite know what to say to that, especially not against the conviction in Myandar's voice, and he did not think it a tasteful thing to concur to this statement. They walked pass laughing tourists and satisfied patrons of those restaurants serving hot and steaming food. Other than the unpleasant innards-churning stench of burnt and decaying meat, there was also the smell of herbs and exotic spices; the aroma wove about them, making it not unpleasant. It was always heart warming to be in the midst of such gaiety. "Remus can be like a child, he needs the attention," Myandar continued. That was something new. Well, he had known of another particular individual who had that personality down to a pat. Yes, an extrovert with an excessive personality; experimental and with the daring that could challenge all painful humiliation, all disastrous failures; and nothing could stop him, eventually almost nothing as reality showed. "But then he is a child of the millennium," he realized he had said that aloud, and promptly shut his mouth. "That certainly I have forgotten," she laughed softly. She had a demur manner that he found charming. "Yes, that is a surprise, a delightful surprise to suddenly come to know, to understand the real meaning of those words." "That is because you have known each other for many years, for so long that familiarity has taken away the awareness of time," he said, meaning for this to be more of a question. "Mmmmm, it is not that many years I should say. It was beyond a doubt that everyone knows Remus in the institutions, I had seen him on occasions but to know him," she paused as if finding the exact words. "It takes the strength and the wills of Gods to know Remus. Time does fly in this last quarter of the millennium." She seemed to have uttered the last sentence for herself. They were leaving the crowded streets behind. Nonetheless it was early evening and there were the eternal crowds who thronged the streets, people gathered at every corner with their maps, their ever-ready cameras, their video recorders- view cams he corrected himself mentally. He slowed his pace deliberately. It was always pleasant to walk; he enjoyed the ease and relaxed freedom of the open streets. He felt less pressurized talking with Myandar too. "Myandar how is the Brotherhood really like?" he asked. "What would you like to know about?" She did not walk very close to him all this while and came nearer only now, and Louis found her to be quite tall for a woman even by the day's standards; it was only because of Remus that she seemed short. "Do you have a coven house where all the members congregate? Remus did say 'coven house' is an offending term." "He said that," she shook her head. "He attributes the violence in the streets to the city covens." "That is quite true but there had been violence with or without the covens patrolling the streets," he said quietly. "It's the uncontrolled numbers that caused unrest- but of course, that is no longer of any consequence." "It was more difficult in those days, you are right," Myandar gave him a kind understanding smile. "Now the cities are more peaceful, it is a new beginning." "And it is the same for the Brotherhood?" "Our paths are always different. The hardship is not over for us but you needn't concern yourself, the confrontations are contained within our side of the river. It is only this time." "You mean the Revenant?" "The Brotherhood, your encounter with us, these will become a part of your memory Louis, nothing more than that. Even if there are many of us in the cities, our livelihood, the framework of our community would never be an overcast of your life." "So you and Remus, and others like Anton, you live in the cities over long periods of time." "For those who are able to step into the mortal world, to run the mortal business, there are members who joined us; we have properties, the means to move in anonymity. But evidently not everyone has the will and patience. There are adjustments to be made, the need to give the members the exposure they need." "Ah, to perpetuate an identity, to watch life go pass," Louis whispered, watching the happy faces passing him by, the eyes lingering on him for a second before they became part of the facade of the evening street he always saw, always for so many years over the century. "There is strength in you, I see it even though you live without conviction nor believe in yourself." He looked at her a little stunned that she was referring exclusively to him. "I cannot say I understand what you said completely." "You doubt yourself, you question yourself incessantly. I needn't read your mind to know that, you need not worry. And Remus will not do that either, he is carrying on well, with perfect decorum." He did not think he would ever question her sincerity or propriety. Myandar was such a strong and independent, and intelligent woman that he was in want to question her of anything at all, particularly about her believes and the events she narrated. "Perhaps it is so," he laughed softly. "Perhaps it will never change." "There are many of us who are in possession of such powers as these gifts are like to be called; the gift of flight, of strength, and of the mind; yet we must live to remember there are nothing in the world that is invincible, indestructible." She was coming along, walking just as slowly, and letting him set the pace. "In the institution, we had allowed ourselves to fall into a state where we thought ourselves the Gods of the natural world, that nothing could touch our aura. In the pits of the earth we never saw the light, the progress of the mortal world," she went on unhurriedly as if she knew every word, and perhaps she did as there were probably historians in the Brotherhood who would put these in proper records. "Indeed we, and the different tiers of authority, the many groups, we built our own restraining prisons, and it had turned one brother against the other," she looked up meditatively to the narrow slat of sky along the rows of houses. "It took tremendous effort of so many, it took enough blood and lives to point us to the outside world, to the possibilities which always existed. Perhaps more than that, it pointed us to our fragility, the smallness of this immense heart, this heart that had become soft and vulnerable with the lack of imagination, the lack of vision." "So you have come together to form the Brotherhood, you have founded the vision?" he asked, fascinated again by this, to realize that it had the same quality of that fantastic tale that had unfolded before his eyes when Maharet spoke in those faithful two nights; the turn of 48 hours that had determined the fate of vampires who had lived for millenniums. "What courage."- "It was not a vision clearly defined as a revelation, it took time to shape its form," she spoke in a reminiscing voice. "It started out as a means to survival, to get away from the vortex of chaos, of politics and rivalry within the ranks of the institution. You have walked the streets, you will know the simplistic politics of covens, they are not a mystery to you." "Yes, the rivalry, power struggles, the innocent who are caught in the web of destruction." "History is filled with cliches as they are like to say." He laughed politely, warmed by her casual remark. They were coming near the flat. He could hear the chorus of voices and that raucous singing and brassy music from Rue Bourbon. The rain fell soundlessly, so fine that the silvery droplets were hardly visible in the darkness. He lifted his face to feel the coolness, like a mist. He turned slightly. Myandar was not by his side; he did not even notice that she was not there any more. Most curious. He walked on, entering the carriageway and he had stopped and seen Myandar standing with Remus, they were talking. Remus was gesticulating, his hands describing the air, eloquently conveying his frustration and anger. With a quick gesture Myandar caught his hands, holding them tightly while she spoke in a commanding tone of voice. It was terribly fascinating to see Remus relax visibly, the anger disappearing from his face like the night before. It seemed like he was taking the calmness from Myandar. Perhaps that was so. It could be done, a stronger vampire could always impose his will over another, and he knew that too well. But he knew this only in terms of power, domination and manipulation; it had never been used for any good; it was the means to a desired ultimate end of controlling others. "A small disagreement. Please accept my apology," Myandar said. Louis heard her voice clearly despite the softness. She guided Remus along; he could see how subdued Remus looked as he followed along. And the Roman stopped to watch Myandar take the steps to the rooms. "Louis," Remus said, there was a faint surprise in his voice. "It has been many nights." He watched the older vampire, not knowing what Remus meant. "We have made the house too disturbing for you to stay in." "Please don't concern yourself over this small matter," he said hurriedly. "We keep a number of residents here and happen to stay over at the other apartment." "But this is a special place," Remus drifted off, he stood in the center of the front parlor lost in thought amongst the Rococo furniture. "I feel it." "You do?" Louis looked at him in wonderment. "I have heard of this, it is a gift..." "Blood Drinkers of such do not last, do they?" Remus' voice was a whisper. "The streets are full of danger. It is a perilous life out there." "They don't last." "For the neglected ones most certainly." "You see, they have no self will, they let themselves be overwhelmed by others, they bask in the glow of the light, and they submit themselves to the chasm of darkness," the Latin was lyrical, rolling off Remus' tongue so fluently. "How many can truly surrender themselves to the light and darkness, to see each emotion in its undiluted charm, the distilled nature of this heart that beats in each of us." "That speaks of courage," he said. The Roman looked at him directly. "And you have that in you." "Me?" "And you have a heart, a beautiful warm heart." "Yu are talking of yourself surely Remus, you have such generosity, you have been so gracious and you have never spoken a word of recrimination against the one, the very one who has caused this disaster." "That is nothing, you should not burden yourself with that," Remus came closer to him, stopping about two steps away. "I want to help you, I want to help the both of you." "But I have done nothing," Louis was helpless to answer. "No vampire, no monster like me deserves that nobility that you have..." "Ah Louis, how I loath this suffering that you feel," Remus' eyes grew large. "I loath suffering, the pain that each of my brothers feel. I loathe the negativity that gnaws the hearts of the young in the street. I loath even more those Street Rats, those with ignominious intentions, with believes that this power we hold is invincible, and they can use it against their own blood." With an even more gentle tone, and the colors darkening in those vivid orbs, Remus said simply. "I want to take away the common pain and suffering, to give respite to the tortured souls..." "You have helped us, you have helped Lestat," Louis was in awe. "That is little help." "The Brotherhood must value you." "They need nothing of my kind." "That's not possible." "That is the reality of things," Remus smiled wider, the gloom lifting from his face. "I don't care really. I do not operate with ambition, I am not dictated in lengths and breaths like definitive mortal terms of measurements; I certainly do not plan my executions nor evaluate the results of my actions." "But you do help Myandar with her plans." "I would not have the strength nor will to do what they do," he made a dismissing motion with his hand. "There are a million other things that need my attention and my time, a million other things that distracts me." "But still, in helping that is nobility." "It is nothing, there is no value nor is there conviction," Remus became thoughtful. "And that compared to Lauren..." His eyes acquired that distant look as he spoke. "The purity and conviction of heart and soul." "She must be a valued member of the Brotherhood," Louis realized Remus had referred to this person several times in their past conversations. She must be a very capable member of the Brotherhood to be held with such esteem. "She..." Remus looked down at him questioningly. "Lauren, I believe you mentioned her." "Lauren?" "Ah, yes 'Lauren'," he was getting confused. "She..." Remus looked bemused, the pouted lips stretched slowly into a wide smile even as his eye brows shot down, then drew up into an expression of consternation and amusement. The rapid changes in expression made Remus looked child-like, it rather reminded him of the animated expressions of his maker. "'Lauren'," Remus affected a cough, smiling now almost shyly. "It's... a short name." "A pet name." Remus looked up. And Louis followed his eyes to see that Myandar had come to join them. "How rude of you," Remus pointed out to her, his voice was sharp and the French heavily accented. "It's a pet name that Remus insisted on using," Myandar said, ignoring Remus. "I don't see the rest of you in a great hurry to correct it or change it," Remus gestured imperiously. Myandar smiled good-naturedly at Remus and kissed him on the cheek. It was surprising to see that Remus did not show the slightest animosity as his words might convey, he accepted her greetings with a small playful smile. "It's short for 'Laureate'," Myandar said as she sat down with them. "Yes, all that gibberish," Remus said sardonically then attempted to repeat the name in French but it was entirely lost in his peculiar accent. It was comical how the sounds came out so foreign, nothing like 'Laureate' at all. Louis decided to keep silent. "You see Myandar, it serves no purpose." "Poor excuses Remus, it's because you refuse to learn it well." "It's a barbaric language, it's not the way the language of this world should be, whatever happened to Latin?" he said in exasperation, his Latin sharpened beautifully. "It should be 'Lorenzo'. That, is a nice name. 'Lorenzo'." "You tried that before." "So, 'Lauren' by far is the perfect name. So much for the argument," Remus smiled, then laughed with satisfaction, his eyes flashing with mischief. Louis was quite dazzled by Remus' unbridled youthfulness, that handsome countenance and charming disposition. "Well, since Myandar has arrived, I should be leaving," Remus rose from his seat, buttoning the slim cut, three-button jacket that fitted him very snugly. "You're leaving?" Louis was surprised. "Myandar will be here, that is enough," Remus smiled. Louis noticed the older vampire's wistful expression as he took his leave. Myandar had said something to which Remus gave an impatient smile, his lips curling into that characteristic pout before he gave a wave and was gone. "We did not realize the time it is taking to move out." He looked at Myandar, and it came to him that she was referring to their stay here. Sometimes it took quite a lot of concentration to talk to the elders. He recalled the times he talked to Pandora, how she could go on rapidly, leaving him lost and struggling; oftentimes she would pause to look at him with a gentle smile and repeat herself, or Marius would interrupt her so that she would stop to check herself. Louis knew he had been indebted to the elders' patience and understanding, as he was now indebted to these Blood Drinkers of the others. "We wouldn't have wished for you to go," he said quickly. Myandar looked at him straight in the eye unexpectedly then said very quietly. "Louis, you cannot hope for us to be your distraction." He stared at her astonished by the honesty of her words and he felt humiliated that she had read through him so easily. "But is it wrong to reach out for the knowledge you possess?" The words had no conviction even as they left his lips, and he looked away from her. "Each of us must choose our path Louis. No knowledge, no truth in this world is enough to surrogate that path that you choose for your heart," Myandar said this without accusation. "Your barriers, your restraints that you painted so vividly, you can break them down, tear them away. You have the strength to do that." "Yet I don't have that courage..." "I do not judge the perimeter you draw for your life, that is your strength. But allow yourself the freedom to see everything, open your eyes to the miracles of this earth, the offerings of this ever-changing world, to see it without grids and molds, to see it for its value." He nodded slowly. "The natural world." "Yes. The beautiful, the strong, the weak; for no creature is born without beauty." The Savage Garden and all its glorious inhabitants. To think the vampire should have a place in this enchanted garden. He felt the warmth come to his heart, the heat in his face to recall the distinct feelings that Lestat's narratives had aroused when he first read those words. How he wanted to believe that! "Think of this," she took his hand in hers gently, the hardness as familiar as the coldness of his flesh. "There are no easy resolutions to all things for the complexity of our minds and our eternal lives overwhelms all thing. Remus wants to help you in his way but it is not right. You must find the strength in yourself, to find the answers yourself." "Come to terms," he half whispered to himself. He saw in his mind's eye the faces of friends and loved ones, the gentle peace of a family that had perished in the wake of Akasha's destructive path. "I cannot bear the lost of so many..." He felt those feelings that had lie dormant for so long. "I cannot bear the loss..." "But for all that had happened, what would you do now? Think of it Louis." He looked up at her; grateful for her strength and her quiet calm that was what he needed so desperately. Her calmness and strength... He felt it run deep inside him. And like the act of throwing opening
a heavy door, he delved into that hardened coldness and found it was no longer pain
Notes: 1 Shakespeare, Hamlet, Act 2 Scene 2 2 The Pandora Box/Greek myth from the story of Prometheus. Pandora is a very beautiful creation of Zeus, she is the agent Zeus uses to wreck disaster on man. While the Pandora Box contains all forms of disasters to men, at the bottom of the Box, hidden away is its most precious gift, Hope. 3: Cloud Compeller - Greek myth, Zeus
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