Come Twilight (30 page)

His hunting revealed that the game was much reduced in the forest, and he supposed the Moors had been feeding themselves from the woods; he supposed the wolves and cats had been driven out, as had the bear. Still, there were sheep and goats to be had, and he chose carefully, leaving the drained carcases near small farmsteads or religious houses as he continued upward. He was circumspect in his journey, traveling at night, and taking precautions to bring no attention on himself; this slowed his progress but gave him the opportunity to gauge the changes of the last century. There were far fewer people in the mountains than had been there a hundred years before; he attributed this to the privations brought by invasion. The few villages he had seen were largely deserted, many marked with crosses as if to ward off the followers of Mohammed.

A few evenings later, when he was roughly ten thousand paces from Mont Calcius, he came upon something that perplexed him: there was an ancient funereal barrow, and in the arch marking it stood a large cup filled with coagulated blood. Approaching it, he quickly ascertained the blood came from horses. It had not been there very long—only a few insects had discovered it—but it had been put there with ceremony, and San-Ragoz decided that it was an offering: who had left it and to what purpose? He recalled Csimenae and the horse-skulls over the village gates. Had the people in the mountains resumed their worship of horse-spirits? The puzzle haunted him as he continued on through the night; he noticed how still the woods were—game was thin and what remained was nervously alert. Who else was abroad in the forest, that the animals went in fear of them? Robber bands might account for it, yet he was not convinced that they alone could account for the missing game.

When he found a second cup set out in a ruin, he began to worry, for whatever the blood was intended to appease, it was more frightening than the Moors. He walked around the small clearing with its broken stones and hollowed boulders, taking stock of all the impressions the place gave him. Moonlight dappled the worn stones and limned the cup where it stood within an arch cut into the old stones. There were broken urns scattered about the clearing, and bits of bone were strewn beneath the arch where the cup stood. The site was very old; it had been made before the Romans came, and until very recently had been all but forgotten. Yet the cup was of metal, good-sized and well-made, and the blood was less than a day old.

San-Ragoz lingered in the clearing for a good while, hoping to learn more about it; only the tug of coming dawn sent him to find a place where he could spend his day. Reluctantly he moved into the forest again, taking care to go silently as he circled the clearing. He chose the deep overhang of a rocky outcropping not too far from the clearing, and he made sure he was not so far under the rock that he could not hear any unusual noises that might come from the clearing. As he sank into his vampire-slumber, he listened for the call of birds that usually greeted the sun; this morning the immediate forest was silent.

Around mid-day he was wakened by voices from the clearing; keeping to the shadow of the boulder, he moved as near to the clearing as he could without entering direct sunlight.

“. . . and renew by blood,” a shepherd was chanting, two other men standing with him. By the look of them, they were woodsmen, for both carried axes and saws.

“The protection of our own,” said the two.

“To claim the Holy Blood, we give it you,” said the shepherd. He held up another metal cup, not so fine as the one they had removed from the arch, but still of good quality and size.

“This we promise.” The woodsmen laid their hands on the cup as the shepherd set it where the other had been.

“Tonight you shall feed elsewhere.” The shepherd stepped back from the cup.

“Tonight you shall feed elsewhere,” the woodsmen repeated.

San-Ragoz listened closely, trying to discern their intention by this rite.

“Spare us that we may serve you,” the three said together as they backed to the edge of the clearing.

“I have a goat to leave out,” said the older woodsman just as the shepherd was about to turn away.

“Good,” said the shepherd, giving the woodsman his attention. “They had three of my flock last night. I cannot lose any more and feed my family.”

There was an awkward silence among the three, and then the older woodsman said, “Since they took my younger daughter, it has been easier.”

“It isn’t wise to speak of those who have been taken,” said the younger woodsman.

“It isn’t wise to speak of any of them at all,” said the older woodsman.

“I do not want to sacrifice my children as well as my sheep,” said the shepherd. “Better to give them the flock than—” He stopped abruptly.

“They may take all,” said the younger woodsman.

“If we had more horses,” the older woodsman declared.

“It would only delay them,” said the shepherd, fear and disgust making his voice harsh.

“Then why do we bother?” asked the younger woodsman.

“To buy time,” said the older. “They will take others before they take us and ours so long as we prove our devotion.”

“The Moors will deal with them, when they come to cut down our trees,” said the shepherd: he was fidgeting now.

“That will not be for a while. They are still far down the mountains,” said the older woodsman.

“And when they come, we will have to leave or turn carpenters,” said the younger.

“That is for later,” the shepherd said. “For now, we must deal with the night ones.” He crossed himself. “They have kept us safe from the Moors and the Gardingi before them. It is the pact and they will honor it so long as we do.”

“And so we will,” said the younger woodsman. “Tomorrow I will bring the cup.”

“Good,” said the shepherd, shifting the one he held from hand to hand. “What blood?”

“We will butcher a shoat. There should be enough blood.” He sounded uneasy.

“Well enough,” said the shepherd, and swung around on his heel, going away from the other two as if he was too anxious to remain in this place for long.

“He fears for his woman,” said the older woodsman.

“With good cause,” said the younger; he coughed and stared off into the forest.

“Well, tomorrow,” said the older.

“Yes. Tomorrow,” the younger agreed before he strode off, walking rapidly.

The older woodsman lingered a moment, then he, too, left the clearing.

San-Ragoz emerged from the shadows, for the moment ignoring the discomfort he felt in the sunlight. How he missed his native earth in the soles of his houseauz! He shook his head impatiently as he went back to the clearing, disliking the foreboding that had begun to intrude on his thoughts. The ritual he had witnessed was not intended to rouse old gods for the protection of the people in the mountains, it was designed to placate a danger that was far more imminent than the Moors, a danger that was linked with blood. His strength was fading rapidly, leached by the sun; he stumbled back to the shelter of the boulder and tried to resume his rest. Sleep eluded him, for he kept casting back to what he had heard, and what it implied grew increasingly plain to him. “She cannot have been so reckless,” he muttered as the forest fell into twilight and the creatures of the day surrendered the woods to the creatures of the night. Now that it was dark, San-Ragoz climbed to the top of the boulder and used this vantage-point to look out on the forest, his night-seeing eyes penetrating the deepest gloom.

There was laughter in the dusk, light and youthful; four young men came into the clearing. None was older than fourteen, and all four of them were dressed in peculiar assortments of garments, some of them Moorish, but most in the style of past years, as if their clothes were trophies or souvenirs. The apparent leader ambled over to the cup, sniffed at it and shook his head. “They are forgetting how to honor us.”

The laughter came again as one of the four called out, “Aulutiz, we will have to remind them what we require.”

All four laughed again, and the sound was not wholesome.

Aulutiz! the name rang in San-Ragoz’s memory: that infant Csimenae had been so determined to save. There could be no doubt that they were the same, not with what he sensed of the young men, who had been young men for decades. The ritual the shepherd and woodsmen had performed put the seal upon his convictions. He came down from his perch, moving silently toward the four young men. He realized it was folly to challenge them, so he entered the clearing slowly, his attention focused on the leader; he was hungry for conversation, not conflict. He stood still, letting the four take notice of him in their own time.

One of the youths tugged at the leader’s sleeve and pointed to San-Ragoz, whispering something before he stepped back.

“A stranger in the place of Holy Blood,” said Aulutiz mockingly. He strolled toward San-Ragoz. “A pilgrim, by the look of him,” he remarked to his companions. “With nothing to offer us but what we want.”

Again the malign laughter sounded in the night.

San-Ragoz said nothing as he watched the dark-haired young man come toward him, When Aulutiz was an arm’s-length from him, San-Ragoz said. “You are from Mont Calcius?”

Aulutiz stared at hearing the language of his people. “Yes,” he said curtly. “How do you know?”

“I was in that place, some years ago,” San-Ragoz told him calmly.

“Not recently,” Aulutiz corrected him. “I do not know you. I know everyone who lives in this region.”

“No, you do not know me,” San-Ragoz agreed. “I have not been here recently.” He made no move as Aulutiz circled around him, taking stock of what he saw.

“Who are you?” The question came from behind him.

“Sanct’ Germain,” San-Ragoz answered.

This time the laughter was incredulous. “He left long ago. He is dead.” He rounded on San-Ragoz. “Do you say you are dead?”

“As dead as I was when I came here,” said San-Ragoz. He turned to face Aulutiz. “You were still an infant, as I recall.”

“You are not Sanct’ Germain,” said Aulutiz. “You look like a beggar. Sanct’ Germain had horses and mules, and a servant. You cannot be him.”

“Not just at present, no I am not.” San-Ragoz said easily, his full concentration on the young-appearing man. He decided against giving him the name he currently used.

“This is a disguise, then?” Aulutiz suggested sarcastically.

“In a manner of speaking,” San-Ragoz said.

Aulutiz shrugged. “My mother said you died.”

“And so I did,” San-Ragoz said with a cordial nod. “Thirty-seven centuries ago.” He gave the four a short while to consider this.

“You are lying,” Aulutiz accused, his jaw thrust out.

“I do not lie,” San-Ragoz responded, his voice level as he contemplated the four.

Aulutiz continued to walk around San-Ragoz, his flinty eyes showing his age and nature if nothing else of him did. “Where have you been?”

“Away from here,” said San-Ragoz, making no effort to appease the others.

“Why?” Aulutiz asked harshly. “You can find all you need in these mountains.”

“Vampires become too obvious if they remain in one place too long.” San-Ragoz paused. “Or if they gather in groups.”

“So you say.” Aulutiz howled his amusement. “Well. My mother will be surprised.”

“She is still here?” San-Ragoz asked, more shocked than he expected to be.

“Where else should she be?” Aulutiz demanded. “This is her native earth. And mine. And theirs.” He belatedly indicated the other three. “We are all hers.”

“Hers?” San-Ragoz repeated as the whole implication sank into him. “Do you mean she brought you to her life?”

“Certainly,” said Aulutiz contemptuously as if any other possibility were beneath his consideration. “She brought all of us to her life.” This was a boast, and he smiled.

“She?” The enormity of the act shook him. “How could she?”

“If you are Sanct’ Germain, you know.” Aulutiz held up his hand in defiance.

“You say your mother brought you to her life,” San-Ragoz repeated, his incredulity increasing. “How did she accomplish your change?”

“I drank her blood; what else should I do? So have all the others.” He glared at San-Ragoz. “You had her drink yours.”

San-Ragoz nodded numbly. “That I did.” He could not think of anything more to say; he was too caught up in the tangle of his emotions: it was appalling to realize that Csimenae had done something so unthinkable to her child.

“What do you expect of her?” He folded his arms and faced San-Ragoz, his flint-colored eyes arrogant. “She has made this place ours.”

One of the three sighed. “How long do we bother with this?”

“I say we hunt,” seconded another. “This fellow is nothing if we do not feed.”

“There is no point in it,” said Aulutiz in disgust. “He has nothing for us.” He turned on his heel, walking away from San-Ragoz. “Come. It is time we were on our way. There will be something left out for us, or we can claim what we want.”

“Before you go,” San-Ragoz called out. “How many of you are there?”

“You mean vampires?” Aulutiz asked. “Oh, forty or so.” He signaled the others and led the way into the forest.

Remaining where he stood, San-Ragoz thought over what he had been told. Forty or so! This was the most dreadful revelation yet. No wonder the living called this region the place of Holy Blood: they would not intend the appellation ironically, no matter how richly it was deserved. He began to pace, his consternation increasing with every step. What had happened here in the years he had been gone? How could Csimenae allow so many vampires to be created? For he had to assume she had permitted it to happen: she had shown herself prepared to keep her position as village leader on her son’s behalf. If she had made her son a vampire, she must have consented in the creation of the rest, directly or indirectly. But forty vampires! All the game in the forest would not be sufficient to feed them in these lean times, and every living human for many thousands of paces around would be in danger from them. Better to face ravening wolves in winter than have more than three vampires in one region—to have forty was catastrophic, and not for the living alone, but for the vampires. He tried to figure out what Csimenae had hoped to gain by this folly, and was left perplexed. He told himself that Aulutiz might have exaggerated the number, yet even half that amount posed a threat of such magnitude that San-Ragoz found it staggering. He halted in front of the cup of blood and shook his head. How much longer, he wondered, would the living be willing to extend themselves for vampires? Eventually they would refuse to accommodate, and then there would be carnage.