Dichotomy

Originally published in QUIETUS GOTHIC LITERARY MAGAZINE, Vol. 3

I ignore the fool. Titan has come from Florence to find me at my workshop. He wants immunity from death. I can offer only attenuation, something he already possesses.

The mechanics of my art consume me. Slowly I carve runes of power into polished bone, careful not to crack its surface. Skeletal minions are in great demand among the practitioners of the dark arts. My pets are difficult to animate, but they are loyal.

I hear the bones crunch beneath his boots. As the dim light of the room flickers, I look up from my work. Titan is restless. He has wandered over to the pit, where I store my failures. Peering within, he grimaces. "Why don't you just toss them out?"

"If bones began showing up on my land, the villagers would report me. The church would come after me.

"We do not fool the humans here, boy. The primal energies are stronger this close to the mountains, and the villagers feel it. They still believe in us.

"Money cannot be used to influence them. I would be forced to leave my home, or be burned at the stake," I reply. "We all have to be careful, boy."

Titan laughs. "I haven't been a boy for centuries." His fangs flash in the torch lit room. His boots echo as he walks across the marble floor of my dungeon and he grasps my arm. "Khanates, listen to me." Titan's voice is loud, urgent. "I'm tired of this half life. I was told you could help me." His words are clipped, terse with anger. "I've been a vampire for hundreds of years, and it's always the same. Politics, passion and limitations; I'm sick of it all."

My chisel slips. The skeleton is ruined. Turning, I look up at Titan. "So, die. It's easy enough." It is easier to end life than to create it, I reflect silently.

"What guarantee do I have that death will be any better?"

"There are no politics in death," I reply.

I set down the tool. The dungeon beneath my villa is perfect for my work, safe from the prying eyes of the villagers, but it is cold and damp. My brown hands are stiff and riddled with pain. I will get nothing done like this. I begin to put away my work. Titan watches as I cleanse the chisel in pure water and anoint it with spiced oil, then slip it into a silken bag. Magical tools require special treatment.

I nod toward the skeleton. "Dispose of that."

As I putter around my workbench, he lifts the ruined skeleton and carries it over to the pit. When Titan is occupied I slip a small vial of powder into the pocket of my woolen robe and add the Necromancer's Ruby. I discovered it centuries ago in a tomb in India, embedded in the forehead of a statue of Kali, the death goddess. I will need it and the powder to cast the spell when Titan is dying. Draping the workbench with a blessed cotton cloth, I turn.

He has found my dragon bone. It sits on one of the shelves opposite my pit, among powders and vials of liquid that I use in my work. Titan approaches the shelf cautiously and leans down. Eyes narrowed, he peers into the smoky jar. "What's this?"

I smile. Closing my eyes, I whisper, naming the runes I carved on the bone a thousand years ago. It shivers, trembling at my call. Rising, it floats within the confines of its glass cage, humming with magic. Titan steps back, sucking air into his dead lungs. The dragon bone, yellow with age, floats up to the top of the jar and prods the lid gently.

Titan's hand goes to the hilt of his dagger. His face is pale in the gloom of the dungeon, his eyes wide. I release it with a word and it falls, striking the bottom of the jar and ringing like a bell.

Titan relaxes the grip on his dagger. "What creature has a vertebra that large?"

"A whale, perhaps?" I shrug, "Or a dragon."

"Where did you get it?"

"In Babylon." I smile. "It is a trinket now. Once it was an obsession." I walk towards the door an he follows me. "Grab that torch, will you? When I was young, I sought out fantastic beasts. I thought their death would be filled with power, and I could use it." I let him remove the torch from the wall sconce, then led him to the thick oak door. As we leave, I lock the door with a large key that hangs on a golden cord around my neck. Whispering words of power that I learned in Samaria, I set the wards. "I was wrong. Death has its own power. The energy in that toy is in its rarity, not in its demise."

"Those words I heard you whispering, what do they mean?"

"So many questions." I climb the stairs slowly, my feet cold and my legs stiff. He towers over me even on the step below. He is aptly named. "Necromancers use many tools to unlock the energy around them. Words are useful in casting simple incantations." Reaching the head of the stairs, I lead him through the villa foyer to the front hallway.

My villa reminds me of a crypt. The walls are bare. The floor is gray marble, unadorned by rugs. There are no paintings and rich tapestries, and only enough furniture in the library to serve my basic needs. As we progress, drafts from the empty windows chill me. Tuscany is cold, here at the base of the Apennine mountains.

Dead leaves carpet the stones beneath our feet. As we tread on them they make a stifled crunching sound, sending up the smell of chestnuts and the musty odor of old wood. My torch picks out their autumn colors and sparkles on the dew that coats them. I glance over my shoulder and see Titan stepping through the leaves carefully, as if picking his way down a treacherous mountainside. The hems of his fine silk pant legs are wet. His boots shine with dampness. Titan's vest and the collar of his dress shirt are open, and his white skin gleams in the moonlight that permeates the hallway. With his long thin body, it gives him the appearance of a towering skeleton. The thought makes me smile; Titan is no one's "pet".

I revel in the primal energies, and will allow nothing to prevent them from entering the larger rooms of my villa. The wind flows through open windows here in the main hall. It is a force of nature to be studied, not denied. I do not carpet the villa. There is a connection to the mountains near my home in this floor. I love the feel of it beneath my feet; the raw power, the tie to bedrock. Strength bleeds out of the marble and flows into my old body, intoxicating me. I pause before the threshold of my library and watch the fire burning in the hearth. It eats the wood with such ferocity!

The library is the only place in the villa where nature does not hold sway. Carpeted and warm, it is a haven for my old body. The raw elements excite me, but they can be draining. They cannot reach me here. I wave Titan inside and close the heavy door behind him, shutting out the wind. I will rest a while, letting the sun come up before I am ready to leave this room.

One of my pets is in the corner of the room. A young skeleton, newly made, its bones gleam in the darkened room. It stands patiently, immobile until I call it. The fire beckons, and I find the chair beside it. A bottle of liquid sits on a table next to my elbow, glowing a pale green in the fire light. "Absinthe? It is a new drink, from Switzerland. I heard about it in Paris, a few years ago."

Titan hands the torch to my dead one. He watches closely as it tosses the flaming brand into the hearth. I pour Titan a glass of absinthe from my decanter and fill my glass. "I've heard it will kill you." His voice is wry with humor.

"Wormwood is bitter but it cleanses the mind. No?"

"Will you help me?"

I look at the opalescent green liquid, angling it to catch the firelight. "Why do you hate vampirism so?"

Titan glances nervously out the window, seeking the moon. I sip the absinthe, savoring its licorice taste. My work is fascinating, compelling and I have over-indulged myself in it yet again. My neck cramps, and my back aches as if I was stretched on the church's rack for my sins. He frowns, impatient. "If you were a vampire you wouldn't be limited by that old body."

"No," I reply laughing, "only by a thirst for blood and the arrival of dawn. There are always limitations. I accept mine."

"Well, I do not." He speaks through clenched teeth.

"Ah. There is a procedure, Titan, but it is difficult. You will not like it."

"What do you mean?" He sits in the chair opposite mine, leaning forward and gripping my robe sleeve.

My breath quickens, and I calm myself. He will make a better subject than I had. "Before your time, before even mine, Titan, there were powerful Magical Tools. I began searching for them hundreds of years ago. After reading of Necromancer's Ruby in religious manuscripts I found it in a crypt in India.

"The Necromancer's Ruby can extend the act of dying, itself." The gem sits warm in my pocket, whispering arcane secrets. I am excited at the prospect of feeling its power again.

Titan frowns. "Go on."

"Vampirism is but one way to cheat the grave. I can take you a step beyond your present state. Now," I gesture to his lean young body, "you are only half dead. Therein lies your problem. I can bring you further into the womb of death."

He leans back, folding his arms and scowling. "Dead is dead, old man."

"Life, death, you act like they are mutually exclusive. It is a false dichotomy." I sip my drink. "Death is merely passing into the next form of existence. It is a transitional phase, and one that we begin at birth." I meet his eyes. "You have stopped dying. That is the true nature of vampirism. You are undead."

Semantics," he scoffs.

"You must begin to die again," I reply. "Look at your body, Titan. It is frozen in time. It takes little damage, and feels no pain. It repairs and sustains itself with very little blood. I must steep myself in blood to heal even the slightest cut."

"You are a vampire?" Titan leans forward again, his eyes as dark as the night air, his face like the white moon setting in the sky behind him.

"I am beyond that."

"But, you're old, Khanates. You look rotted, like a corpse."

"My physical self works towards entropy. One day I will be cleansed of life. Cut me with that dagger of yours."

He trembles as he draws the blade from its scabbard and plunges it up to the hilt into my outstretched hand. The metal slices through the papery flesh and it splits. It hurts, but calm I myself and suppress the urge to pull back.

A jet of steam hisses up from the wound. There is no blood.

The muscle is spongy, threaded with magic. It grips the blade, folding around it. Titan jerks back, cursing. A thread of oily smoke trails up to curl on the ceiling. My flesh sags and his dagger falls loose, clattering to the floor between us.

Titan tears his eyes away from my hand. He stares at the dagger on the floor as if it were a snake and lets it lie there. "Who are you?"

"I am more fully dead, that's all." I wrap my necrotic flesh in a kerchief and place in casually on my lap. I will attend to it later. "I can bring you more fully into death, but it has its price."

"What's the point?" I hear Titan's anger. It laces his voice like poison. I reach for my cup of absinthe and think of wormwood.

Titan glares at me. "I'm already a walking corpse. You'd have me corrupted, like you are?"

"You are proud of that youth of yours. It is an illusion, Titan. You know the limits of vampirism. It's the price you pay." I looked at the absinthe. It is green, the color of life, yet the drink was reported poisonous. "Vampires drink blood to sustain the illusion, to stave off the act of dying. This subjugates them to evil.

"The sun is a symbol of purity. That's why you cannot tolerate the light of day, boy. You're drenched in evil."

"You would absolve me?"

"Of course not. I will only allow you to escape the need to kill. Your desires are your own.

"I do not sustain the illusion of life, boy, thus I do not kill. I am not evil, and symbols of purity cannot harm or confine me.

"The magic allows me to heal by bathing in blood, but I don't need to. I can remain wounded, if I chose. Shallow injuries will not hasten my demise, only increase the pain I feel. It would take a more complete distruction to free me of this body; thus I avoid the villagers and their fire.

"My appetites and passions are of the mind, not the flesh." I sniff the rich bouquet of the absinthe. Anise seed and wormwood mix to create a heady aroma. "I may indulge myself, but only out of habit. The blood I use is as dead as this flesh." I hold up my wounded hand to remind him and he looks away.

"Is this true?" Titan's voice is low, his brow creased.

"The pain in my body is the price I pay. I am dying, but slowly. Pain is the last vestige of life within me; it is the signature of decay." I look out the window behind him. The moon is down now. The sky is a soft velvet blue on the horizon. The sun will rise soon, killing him. I must cast the spell before he dissolves into dust.

I reach into my pocket and withdraw the Ruby. It flashes in the firelight. Facets catch the light and toy with it like I play with Titan's fate. "Death is my greatest passion. It is raw and relentless and absolute." I can hear my voice shake. "It is beautiful."

"So, die, then." He shrugs.

"When I have tired of studying it, I will see what lies beyond." I raise my eyebrows. "So, there it is. Will you begin to die?" I push the wrapping aside and thrust the gem into the injured palm, wincing. I will need it to cast the spell. My other hand reaches for the powder. It will ease his pain.

Titan looks at my injured hand, then looks away. He shakes his head. "I'm not so in love with death," he replies.

Sighing, I let him go. The ruby and powder will not be needed. "Titan, look out the window. It is almost dawn."

Startled, he jerks around and swears. "I cannot be here."

"Go down into my workshop and sleep. Tomorrow night we will search for something you can love. Perhaps it will make you happy." It would have been good to have a companion in my studies. "Or, remain, and embrace the sun."

Surging to his feet, Titan runs from the library. He is still too far from death to seek it.

I go to the window to watch the sun rise. The glass is wet and cool beneath my fingertips. As the morning sky is dusted with shades of pink and palest ochre, the world awakens.

I watch and revel in my second passion, life. It is demanding, exciting and mysterious. Perhaps Titan will study life and find a way to recapture it.

I can wait. Wincing, I pull the Ruby out of my cut and hold it to the light. It glows a muted red, and its facets sparkle like the dew on my window. The runes' power remains dormant. Inscribed on the gem's surface, they are as dead as the carpet beneath my feet.

The skeleton rattles as he walks over at my silent command, picking up the empty decanter. He carries the scent of wormwood from the room as he closes the door behind him.

end