Come Twilight (31 page)

A breaking branch brought him out of his hideous reverie. Lifting his head, he attuned himself to the forest. He sensed a boar nearby, and he pondered for a moment going in pursuit of it; he was too distressed to have any heart for hunting; what else might he find if he went after the animal? He listened as the boar made its way through the undergrowth, then trundled off into the depths of the woods.

Deciding that he would spend another night without feeding, San-Ragoz started toward Mont Calcius—he knew he had to find Csimenae, to discover why she had done what she had done, and to try to persuade her to abandon so disastrous a course. He could not bring himself to believe he might fail in his efforts; he felt very much a stranger in unfriendly territory. The forest around him was no longer familiar, and so he went carefully, listening for every sound, aware of the vitality of the night.

By the time he reached Mont Calcius, night was almost over; the first birds were singing and the penned animals were growing restless. He circled the village, noticing that the olive orchard was smaller than before, and the sheepfold was larger; one of the out-buildings had fallen into ruin and the creamery showed a tattered roof. The village itself seemed to have weathered the last century badly—many of the buildings inside the walls were entirely roofless, and others showed signs of neglect. Whatever had become of the place, it had not been to the benefit of those still living there. He noticed an old building at the far end of the olive trees and for an instant considered hiding there for the day. Almost at once he decided against anything so obvious; anyone searching for vampires would know all the hiding places near villages and farmsteads, and during the day he—and all his kind—would be vulnerable. He went back into the forest and finally came upon a fallen shelter that had once protected logs from rain and wind. The bark and shavings made a rough bed, but he was glad to have it as he settled in for the day, and to be engulfed in torpor until sunset.

The woman minding the gate was marked by a life of drudgery; her hair was already veined with white, and her face was wrinkled although she could not have been more than twenty. There was no one else about; only the torches burning along the street hinted at other occupants of Mont Calcius. The woman moved nearer to the torch next to the gate; she glared at San-Ragoz, her brows drawn down in wariness as he approached. “Stop there, outsider.” Her accent was somewhat changed from the one Sanct’ Germain had learned, but he was able to understand her well enough to converse.

San-Ragoz did as she ordered him. “I am a pilgrim,” he said.

“You are lost,” she corrected him.

“Perhaps,” he answered, and waited.

“You must be, to have come here.” She studied him, making note of his self-possessed demeanor at such variance with his clothing.

“I speak your tongue: how can I be lost?” He did not quite smile but there was a softening of his eyes.

She frowned. “We have nothing to offer you. There is no inn, and no one here receives strangers into their houses. As you should know,” she added in a testy manner.

“A wise precaution in such times,” he agreed.

“And yet, you are outside this gate.” She very deliberately looked away from him.

“I am on this path. I seek a way through the mountains, one that does not put me in the way of the Caliph’s soldiers.” He did his best to look reassuring in his ragged, dirty clothing. “I do not want to travel the obvious roads.”

“We cannot help you. And I must warn you to leave this region as quickly as you can. The Caliph’s soldiers are nothing compared to what hunts in these woods.” She made a nervous gesture and coughed. “They have taken my brothers to be one of them.”

“Outlaws?” San-Ragoz suggested, hoping she would reveal more.

“No. We have no outlaws anymore. They do not dare to come here because of the vampires. They know none of us will give them shelter, and they do not want to face the blood-lovers.” She spat to show her anger as she squinted through the dusk at him. “Be wary. They are everywhere and their numbers are increasing.”

“Vampires?” he repeated, letting the word draw out.

“Those who should be dead and are not,” she told him abruptly. “Those who drink living blood. They live in the forest and we give them tribute in exchange for their protection.”

“How do you come to have such a plague as this?” San-Ragoz crossed himself, and saw the woman relax a bit. He could sense the nearness of his chest of his native earth, and the pull of it was more intense than his hunger.

“It shames us, for it began here, in this village long ago.” She faltered, then went on as if compelled to explain the whole of it. “A woman saved herself from the Great Pox by summoning a vampire to protect her.” She sighed heavily. “In other parts of the mountains, they say it was Satan Himself who bargained with her, but in the village we know better. Chimenae was the first and she is still the most to be feared. She brought our village to the ruin you now see. She and all her tribe.”

“Did Satan make the rest?” He wanted to know how distorted the stories had become.

“No: she did. They say she had to, that if she went a year without making a new vampire, her life would be forfeit.” She glanced westward. “They will be abroad by now.”

San-Ragoz had to force himself to ask the next question. “How did it come about that she had been able to do this? Did no one try to stop her?”

“Stop Chimenae?” The woman shook her head. “She said we would not starve to long as we sheltered her and her kind. We did not know what a bargain we had made. It disgraces me to speak of it.” She motioned to him as if to shoo him away. “You must not linger here. The vampires will come soon. It is dark enough to be dangerous. Find yourself a secure place and close yourself in for the night. As I must.” She started away from the gate, not quite running but moving faster than a walk.

“Wait,” San-Ragoz called after her; he did not want to leave the village, and his precious cache of earth.

“No. It is no longer safe.” Saying that, she ducked into one of the houses that still had a roof, and pulled the door to with a loud slap of wood on stone.

San-Ragoz did not remain by the gate; that would be useless. He slipped away into the forest, and found a vantage-place where he could watch the village. He promised himself he would find game before morning—at the moment, discovering the extent of Csimenae’s folly seemed more urgent than his hunger.

Not long after midnight, his patience was rewarded: half a dozen figures emerged from the trees on the far side of the village, two deer carried hanging from wooden bars. The vampires brought the animals to the gates of the village, fixed them so that they hung over the wall, then went away, only to return dragging the body of a man with a stake driven through him. This they left sprawled near the midden. As soon as they had finished they went back into the woods once more; they did not return.

Apprehensive and curious, San-Ragoz came down from his watch-point and went to inspect what the six had left. The deer were drained of blood and perfunctorily gutted; they would have to be skinned and dressed shortly if all the meat was to be used. The dead man was another matter: he, too, had no blood left in him—indeed, he was pale as fine clay for lack of it—but the stake that severed his spine ensured he would never rise to join the ranks of vampires; he was a laborer, his garments like those of the slaves cutting down trees for the Caliph’s navy. Either the vampires had extended their range dramatically or the man had run away from his work detail—San-Ragoz assumed the latter, and he could not conceal the pang of sympathy he felt for the dead man, who had sought freedom and found utter death.

Had he been at liberty to act out of conscience, San-Ragoz would have prepared a grave for the dead man, and put some description of him on a marker; but from what the woman at the gate had said, the bargain the villagers had with Csimenae’s tribe made such an act unwise. He contented himself with tearing off the sleeve of his habit and dropping it over the man’s face. This done, San-Ragoz hastened into the forest to catch a young sheep to slake his thirst. He put the gutted carcase with the deer, then returned to his resting place of the day before.

At nightfall, San-Ragoz came out of his lair once more, this time with purpose, for he realized he could not continue on his journey without securing some of his native earth to line the soles of his houseauz. There were streams up ahead, and towns with gates open only in daylight: his native earth would protect him from these hazards. He went back toward Mont Calcius, his stride soundless and rapid. This time he kept to the shadows until all the doors were shut and only the flames of the torches moved in the night. When he was certain he could proceed, he climbed over the wall and made his way to the tumble-down wreckage that had been his house, recalling the chest had been buried under the pantry.

The walls leaned at angles and the fallen roof littered the floor as San-Ragoz scrambled through the rubble to where he felt his native earth. He had nothing to serve as a shovel, but determination goaded him on as he dug with his hands, his strength increasing as he neared the buried chest. Finally he grasped the iron bands that secured the leather-and-wood body of the chest, and hauled it from its grave, revitalization surging through him as he opened the lid and laid his hands on the good Carpathian soil.

“No gold?” The light, jeering question came out of the darkness as Aulutiz sauntered toward him. “We’ve been told you buried a treasure.”

“And so I did,” said San-Ragoz. “As you will know if you ever venture beyond this place, and which I hope you will do, not only for yourself, but for all of your . . . clan. The longer you remain here, the more danger you will have. Our kind are not meant to live together as you do.” He paused, seeing that Aulutiz was growing irritated with him. He stretched; his body was stronger, more resilient than it had been for all the years of his enslavement, his mind more acute. “What do you want, Aulutis?” He used the old pronunciation of the young man’s name deliberately.

“I want to know what you are doing here.” He straightened up and glowered at San-Ragoz. “You should not be here. My mother said you were dead, long ago. I asked her.” His young face was shadowed with age as he pointed at the chest, “You have deceived us.”

“Not I,” San-Ragoz countered, his expression somber. “I never told you anything. You were an infant when I left. I told Csimenae what this chest contained just before my servant and I departed, and why I valued it.”

“She said you buried a treasure,” Aulutiz persisted stubbornly. “You have jewels hidden in the earth.”

“No, I do not,” said San-Ragoz. He laid his hand on the old metal claps; he saw that digging had broken two nails. “I have only the earth, which is worth more to me than emeralds and rubies.” He did not add that for centuries he had made his own jewels alchemically.

“Search it,” said Aulutiz to his companions, signaling them to lift their weapons. “And strike off his head if he fights you.”

San-Ragoz felt a twinge of anticipated misery. “Will you at least pile the earth carefully, so I may make use of it?”

Aulutiz laughed. “Perhaps,” he said, and stood back to permit his comrades to empty out the chest in their futile search for gold and jewels as San-Ragoz stood close by, his features unreadable, his dark eyes glowing with pain.

Text of a letter from Hassan ibn Fahsel ibn Hassan to Ermangild of Alta Usca, carried by Abran ben Rachmael.

By the will of Allah the All-Merciful and All-Wise, I, Hassan ibn Fahsel ibn Hassan, Marine Commander of the Caliph’s ships, do send this offer to the Christian leader Ermangild of Alta Usca, with my most solemn vow to uphold the terms outlined here, if you, Ermangild, find them acceptable to you.

First, I Hassan ibn Fahsel ibn Hassan, promise not to imprison or enslave any of the family or household of Ermangild for as long as Ermangild is willing to give my men access to his forests for the purpose of cutting down trees to build ships. No claim shall be made upon Ermangild for concubines, or boys to pleasure me or any other officer of the Caliph. I, Hassan ibn Fahsel ibn Hassan, will supply such men and slaves as will be needed for the task of cutting trees and any other that may arise, so that the slaves and farmers of Ermangild will not be taken away from their labors on the land on Ermangild’s behalf. In no other way shall Ermangild’s authority be reduced or abrogated.

Second, for a period of ten years, I, Hassan ibn Fahsel ibn Hassan, swear I will raise no taxes beyond those I have already imposed, so long as it is shown that not Ermangild, nor any of his servants or family, has contrived to retain any of the money to be collected for the forces of the Caliph.

Third, that on my command, Abran ben Rachmael, who brings this letter, will inspect the records of Ermangild, his family and his servants, and his decision in regard to any question of taxation or other monies shall be final and unquestionable. Further, should Ermangild, his family or his servants be shown to be in arrears, the tax, double that of followers of the True Faith, shall be doubly taxed again. If there is not sufficient money and produce to discharge this or any similar debt, the servants and family of Ermangild shall be taken as slaves in such number as will discharge the tax debt in full, and the buildings owned by Ermangild seized and occupied by men of the Caliph.

Fourth, that such fighting men as Ermangild now houses will be given the opportunity of joining with the forces of the Caliph, for which service they shall receive the same recompense as any soldier of the True Faith without having to change their religion to be paid and enrolled, so long as they swear their loyalty to the Caliph. Should any fighting man prefer to remain in the service of Ermangild, he shall be subject to the same double taxation as all Christians and he will be made ineligible to take up the banner of the Prophet unless he converts to the True Faith.

Fifth, that all dowries and legacies are to be subjected to the review of Abran ben Rachmael, who shall determine how much of such monies may pass to the husbands and heirs of Christians, and how much is to be collected to the benefit of the Caliph. These amounts will be taxed but once, and after such debts are discharged, the money cannot be diminished by any follower of the True Faith. In the case of dowries paid for Christian women entering the religious life, as Christians are people of the Book, the religious dowries will not be subject to any taxation.