Blood Brothers

  Nana had a large cave close to the main entrance. There, where beams of sunlight shot in through holes in the perforated rock and dust motes drifted like specks of gold, she sat Nathan down on a blanket on a ledge carved in the wall. And while she saw to the needs of two old ladies in her care—in the course of preparing their food—she talked to him and questioned him over her shoulder. In a little while he stopped answering, and Nana saw that he’d stretched out and gone to sleep.

  Then, as the old ones ate their food Nana sat beside him. She stroked the lines from his brow, cried all the tears she’d stored up for so long, and loved her son for all the lonesome times she’d missed loving him …

  Nathan dreamed of Maglore, who in any case had never been far from his thoughts since his escape from Runemanse; an image of the man, the vampire Lord, the monster, had seemed printed indelibly on his inner eye, but faintly, like an after-image.

  Maglore in his aerie, in a darkened room, alone, with a smile on his ancient, evil face and his eyes half-closed, and spider hands with spindly fingers resting upon an image of his sigil, the hammered gold loop with a half-twist. Nathan dreamed of the Seer Lord, and knew that Maglore in turn dreamed of him, of Nathan!

  He conjured the numbers vortex and washed Maglore away in its seething swirl—and saw the smile on his fading face turn to a scowl—before he drifted deeper into sleep …

  He dreamed of his wolves. They had felt the swirl of the vortex and stirred in their mountain cave. He knew that their yellow eyes blinked in the gloom, and could feel their warmth and smell the musty heat of their curled bodies. But they were tired and he should let them sleep; it was sufficient that they acknowledged his return …

  His freely drifting mind touched upon the deadspeak minds of Sunside’s Great Majority: a Jiving mind listening in on the dead. They knew him at once, but the message of their swiftly receding whispers was as vague and mysterious as ever:

  “That one, Nathan!”

  “But the Thyre speak for him; they say there’s no harm in him, only good.”

  “So was his father good, in his time. But in the end?”

  “We could tell him much.”

  “We daren’t!”

  Among them was a voice which was very faint. “I, Jasef Karis, could tell him most of all.”

  “And be shunned among the dead forever?” The others were alarmed.

  “You are cold and cruel,” the faint one replied.

  “But not as cold and cruel as the Wamphyri necromancer who is his brother!”

  “He is a vampire. They are not the same.”

  “Can Nathan live forever, then? And what will he be when he dies? Ah, and will he stay dead?”

  Finally, reluctantly: “Perhaps you are right,” said Jasef Karis. With which their dead voices faded away entirely as the teeming dead fell silent in their graves and resting places …

  At last it was Eygor Killglance’s turn; the leathery amalgam which was Eygor, blind and dead in his pit in Madmanse. But Eygor didn’t talk about Nathan, he talked to him. The killing eye, Nathan. It can be yours! The clotted gurgle of his mind spanned all the miles between. Now look, and see what my sons did to me!

  Nathan stood at the feet of the Thing in the pit again, and stared up at its dead face, its closed eyes which even now, in his dream, creaked open! And a pair of blind white orbs huge as the eggs of swans, white as shining marble, wept acid tears on to a fretted, crumbling cheek!

  Only see how I cry, said Eygor, because my eyes are blind and white. Ah, but upon a time the right one was filled with blood! See! And at once, the right eye of the gargoyle dripped scarlet. While the left was full of pus! And indeed the left one turned yellow, and swelled like a boil about to burst. And Nathan knew that if it did and the poison splashed him, then that he would be infected, heir to Egyor’s eyes!

  He came shouting awake …!

  But the eyes were gone. The original great white blind glaring eyes (like the eye which Thikkoul had seen in Nathan’s stars, perhaps?), the bloody eye and the yellow one, too: gone! Only his mother’s eyes, Nana’s, were there to greet him where he jerked violently upright. And gazing back worriedly into his, all they contained was love and concern.

  For Nathan was more than ever like Harry Keogh before him, and she knew from his mumbling that he talked to … people, in his sleep; or at least listened to them talking to each other. But mainly she was concerned because of who these people were, and the fact that they were no more …

  Aye, he was more than ever like his Necroscope father, which could be a blessing—

  —Or a curse.

  Nathan and Misha were married at “noon”, when the sun stood at its highest point far to the south and central over the distant desert. The ceremony was simple; Lardis presided; all of Sanctuary Rock’s workforce was present, almost a hundred and forty of them. Times were hard but Lardis had done his best, providing bread and wine and a beast turning on a spit over a fire.

  At the high point of the affair the old Lidesci gathered the couple and their parents to him—Misha in white, Nathan in his freshly cleaned Thyre clothing, which by Szgany standards was still exceptionally fine gear—and with Nana standing face to face with Misha, and Varna glowering at Nathan, then Lardis commenced to say the approved words:

  “Varna Zanesti, what can you say of this girl, your daughter Misha?”

  “That she’s innocent, unknown by man or monster,” Varna growled. “Also that she’s obedient and good. Far too good for this one!”

  Nathan was obliged to back off a step and lower his head. It was all part of the ritual.

  “And Nana Kiklu,” Lardis turned to her. “What have you to say to that?”

  “No mere girl is good enough for a son of mine,” Nana answered, tilting her chin and sniffing at Misha. “I can only hope that their children take more after him.” But not too closely after their grandfather!

  Lardis turned to the couple. “And do you love each other?” They answered yes. “So you may, and from this time forward you have that right—to love with your hearts and your bodies—for you’re now man and wife!”

  They kissed; people applauded; everyone enjoyed a little food, and toasted the health of the couple in wine. There was music and the younger ones danced, those who had the strength for it. But at their first opportunity, Nathan and Misha slipped quietly away …

  Their travois was waiting behind bushes under the south-west facing wall of the Rock. There Misha made ;“Nathan look away—Three years is a long time, after ; all!”—while she changed into Traveller clothes and folded her dress into a pillowcase, and discreetly averted her eyes as he likewise changed. It was the Szgany way. Then, dragging the light-framed travois behind them, they went out into the forest. Heading south-east, they skirted the Rock along an old trail, but half-way towards Settlement turned off into virgin woods and found a place where the bracken stood tall.

  In the heart of the bracken Nathan put up their shelter, a skin stretched over the bole of a fallen tree, made fast to projecting branches, while Misha cleared the ground and spread their blankets underneath. And with mixed feelings they stood looking at the finished job. Everything seemed to be melting into a blur now for Nathan. He still daren’t believe that he had really escaped from Turgosheim; yet here he was, married to Misha, and their first bed ready for them. She didn’t seem changed; it might be as if he’d never been away.

  “Our home for half a day,” he finally said.

  “And for part of a night,” she answered. “For I won’t go back till the stars are out at least. Tonight of all nights, I won’t scurry and scuttle in fear of Them.”

  Nathan looked ruefully at their rude shelter. “Not much of a little house, is it?”

  She smiled in a way he remembered and loved well enough—a smile she’d kept only for him, which was half-innocent, half-brazen—and answered: “People have lived, and loved, in worse than this, Nathan. Anyway, you’ll remember this “little house” for the rest of your days.
I shall see to that.”

  Following which …

  … It was as it has always been and always will be between lovers. And for an hour, two, three, they excited, explored and exhausted each other. Misha was mainly innocent, for which they both were glad. And Nathan … if Misha suspected anything she said nothing. And anyway, he was careful not to “know” too much. From now on they could learn together, or at least he must make her believe that it was so. It wasn’t so much that he deceived her, rather that he would not disappoint her.

  And he didn’t, not in any measure …

  In the time scale of the world of Nathan’s father, the couple stayed in their love nest for an entire day, and one more to go before sundown. Like all young animals paired off, they loved and slept to excess; between times they replenished themselves on bread and cheese from a bundle in the travois.

  Three years without each other; now each moment spent together filled the space of an hour apart, and the husks of empty years fell aside. They got to know each other all over again, but more surely now, more certainly: like a broken wall repaired and made stronger. And the extra wrinkle here or line there: all smoothed themselves out, or seemed to, until their faces were the same yet more than before. Nathan had used to think Misha’s shape was boyish; now it was all woman. She had likened his yellow hair to sunlight; now it was a misted morning, with some of the gold fading to grey.

  Eventually they left their bower and walked to Settlement, which served to revive more old memories. A handful of people were working there; Nathan met some old friends, saw a few new faces. They wandered the forest ways they’d known as children, bathed in the same shingly pool at the river’s bend, fell more deeply, truly in love than ever. Back in Settlement they ate a meal with friends, and Nathan stood for a while outside his old home under the stockade’s west wall. Some repairs had been made but the place seemed like a shell now; at least there wasn’t a flyer trap underneath it; maybe one day Nana would live here again. But live here, as she had used to in better times.

  In the shade of the forest as they returned to the bower, suddenly Nathan shivered, paused, listened. There was only the cooing of pigeons. Misha looked at him curiously. “What is it?”

  Frowning, he touched the golden sigil in his ear. Then he shrugged and offered an awkward smile. “Only the ghosts of memories.” Or the feeling of someone listening, watching, waiting. Instinctively he shielded his mind and conjured the vortex: two perfectly logical moves, of which only the first was a good one. For Nathan didn’t know that where the vortex kept certain evils at bay, it lured one other more surely than crows are lured to a cornfield. And even if he did know it would make little difference, for that one was dead.

  In any case, and long before they reached their love nest, the feeling had passed …

  Evening fell on Sunside, and the first stars came out as the sky slowly darkened towards night. In their bower, the lovers slept, touching all along their length, so close they might be one. In Settlement and other places the first fires were burning even now, lures for Starside’s Lords. But the last vampire raid on Settlement had been a while ago; there was no reason why any monster should come hunting here now, and certainly not in this private place. In Nathan’s metaphysical mind the numbers vortex whirled, and in its heart the mysteries of the universe were hidden behind countless mutating formulae; as were his secret thoughts. Thus the vortex was his protection—

  —And his betrayal.

  High in the mountains, in a saddle between peaks where the gold had faded to grey, a Lord and his lieutenant gazed down on Sunside, the first through scarlet eyes and the other with eyes which were feral. The latter was Zahar (once Zahar Sucksthrall, but no longer), and his master was the Lord Nestor of the Wamphyri, an awesome necromancer whose rapid rise to power had made him a living legend on all the levels of Starside’s last aerie. Their flyers rested a little apart, nodding their great, slate-grey heads in that curiously vacant way of theirs.

  Zahar knew why they had come here: it was a habit of Nestor’s to rest here a while, this very spot, and gaze down on Sunside before a raid. Always here, over Settlement. But while he found a constant fascination with the place, he had never once raided in the town. In the past he’d always given the same reason: “I think … I know this place. But there’s nothing here that I want, not any longer.”

  Tonight was different. Wratha had suggested that she and Nestor might raid together, yet he had flown out early with just Zahar in attendance. Just the two of them, without even a warrior. And Nestor’s gaze was very keen, even eager tonight as he looked down on the glow-worm flicker of the town’s fires; and Zahar sensed within him an eagerness, a strange cold passion, and a purpose.

  For a while the lieutenant fidgeted, then asked: “Do we raid here tonight? Do we recruit? If so we should be careful, for these people have a reputation. Those fires could well be lures!”

  Nestor merely glanced at him, but at least the question had drawn him back to earth. “We hunt,” he answered.

  “Hah!” Zahar snorted appreciatively. “For women?”

  “For a couple, male and female,” Nestor’s voice was like a low wind out of the Icelands, cold and foreboding. “A great enemy of mine who went away and is now returned. A treacherous Szgany dog and his bitch, who plotted against me. Even now they are hiding from me, in the woods where they always hid. But I shall find them now as I found them then.”

  Zahar stared at him, feared him. Nestor had no background. There was nothing in his past to guide his future. Except this, perhaps, whatever it was. And he was pure as pure Wamphyri! All Nestor knew, he’d learned in Old Starside’s last aerie. And despite that the ways of the aerie were hard, he’d learned fast. Add to this the fact that he was a necromancer … the Lord Nestor’s mind and his ways were unknowable.

  Still, Zahar thought that he should make some answer. “How will you find this enemy, Lord?”

  Again Nestor’s glance, and his grim smile. “He sleeps and dreams,” he said. “But I know his dreams, for they penetrate my own like darts.”

  Zahar said nothing. He had been right: his master’s mind was entirely unknowable.

  “Now listen,” Nestor continued with more animation.

  “In the twilight before the dawn I sensed his return, and dreamed that I went to fetch him into Starside to punish him. But my dream was ominous, and in the hour of my triumph I fell foul of some nameless fate. Tonight, leaving Wratha to sleep on, I rose early and came down to my apartments, from where I heard the Lord Canker Canison singing to the moon. Because they say he is touched with oneiromancy, I mentioned the dream to him. He howled like a wolf and told me that the future is inviolable; the only danger lies in trying to read or alter it; what will be will be. I agree with that last: what will be will be. Except…”

  “Yes, Lord?”

  “If aught befalls me, will my enemy go free? I can’t bear the thought of that.” He shook his head. “No, for if I’m destined for hell I want to know that my enemy got there before me, or follows close behind, at least! These are my instructions:

  “He is mine and you shall take the girl. If all goes well we head direct for Starside. But if I should come to grief my order is this: drop the girl and take him! Do you understand?” His voice was suddenly sharp.

  “Yes, Lord.”

  “For I don’t mind that she lives, only that he should not! And in no circumstance are they to be allowed to live together. Which is why you will take him and head for Starside. For I’ve heard of a certain legend, and I’m determined that he shall be the one to test it.”

  He explained his meaning in more detail, then continued: “Zahar, a dream is only a dream and I’m not afraid of it. Nor do I fear anything. But if aught should go astray, don’t fail me. For I am the Lord Nestor and life and death are one to me, and even in the worst possible future, I shall be back!”

  “I believe you, Lord,” said Zahar.

  They went to their beasts and mounted up. And Ne
stor said, “Now follow close behind, and I’ll take you to them.”

  Zahar kept his thoughts well guarded where he goaded his flyer into the air. But in the eastern foothills and along the peaks he’d seen banks of mist forming, and knew that the Wamphyri hunted there. While Nestor pursued dreams and ghosts out of his unknown past, they hunted for the good things of life: for the blood which is the life, for women and slaves, and for the sheer joy of it. Huh. Not much of joy in Nestor. But then, there’d not been a deal of it in Vasagi either! And this one had his egg.

  Nestor “heard” none of this; his damaged mind was full of other things and remembered only those which he wanted to remember. And as his flyer arched its wings and soughed down the wind towards the tree-line, he was maddened by the swirl of alien numbers rushing faster and faster in his brain. Now, at long last, he would track the maelstrom to its source and destroy it—destroy him—forever. As he should have destroyed him in the far, dim, all but forgotten past…

  The mist on the mountains. Like Zahar, Nana Kiklu had seen it, too, and had gone straight to Lardis. Now they were out searching for the newlyweds, Nana in one direction and Lardis in the other. He was the one who found them, and with time to spare, or so he thought. But in fact he was just too late.

  Arm in arm, they headed for the Rock along a foothill trail. Trudging and weary, they dragged their worldly goods behind them. Lardis saw them, sighed his relief and hurried forward … only to freeze as the night air throbbed and the starlight seemed to dim a little, and a shadow went wafting overhead! Lardis fell into a crouch, snapped his shotgun shut, and looked up. He saw them—flyers, a pair—banking against the hillside, and stooping towards the lovers like hawks! And now they too felt the throbbing of the air, looked up and saw the swooping flyers. Instinctively, Misha flew into Nathan’s arms.

  This way!” Lardis bellowed. To me!” They saw him, ran towards him. The flyers veered a little and their belly pouches yawned open; their wings formed arches where they seemed almost to drift down upon the pair.