The one named Louis was there
the following night, he watched our performance, his petite beauty at his side,
then went to speak with Armand. I know
not what they spoke of. I do know,
however, as Santiago knew, that Claudia was the reason Lestat was not
present. She had killed him, or so her
mind told me. Louis has told of what
happened to Claudia, what happened to us of the Theatre. he thought he killed us all, and he very
nearly did. He would have, if Armand
had not come to me that night, or rather, called me to his chambers.
"Aurora, one whom I call
daughter, my Child of death, pray listen close," he said to me as we sat
in the chairs of his room, with cushions so soft you literally sank into them.
"Yes, father, I
listen. What is it you have to say?" Apparently working on stage for so long had
affected both of our speaking processes.
We always seemed decidedly less casual during these times, as though
every word we spoke was of the climax scene in one of our dramas. I still retain a bit of this formal and
theatrical nature, as is probably obvious.
"Tonight I wish you to find
a place of rest away from the Theatre.
I will give you a reason, child, wait, put away your startled eyes and
pensive frown. The fledgling Louis is
in a rage, and just before the sun rises, he plans to destroy all, set the
entire Theatre aflame."
"And you would allow him to
do this?!" I asked furiously, rising from my seat in such violence that I
nearly toppled it backwards.
"Silence, child!"
Armand hissed. "Listen to me!"
"This is our home! I refuse to believe you would allow it to be
destroyed for the sake of a fledgling lover, who will only end up leaving you
in the end," I said, my French now old, yet quick and crisply clear, not
at all slurred, as some tended to speak.
"Mon petit cherie, as
always you speak powerfully from your heart," he answered calmly, his
French even older than mind. "This
will happen whether I told you or not.
The Theatre Des Vampyres will fall, but ma cherie, I do not want you to
fall with it. We have known each other
for centuries, Aurora, have we not? I
warn you, and only you, of this danger because I love you, and only you out of
any of these vampires here."
I felt noticeably calmed at his
words, and I crouched by his chair, pressing a soft kiss to his angel's
mouth. "I will go," I
complied reluctantly.
"Do not return to the
Theatre," he ordered in a gentle tone, "for there will be nothing to
return to. From this night forward you
are no longer part of any coven. You
are your own immortal. Live only for
your sake. Travel on your own, or find
a companion if you wish. However, be
wary of creating fledglings. They
inevitably turn against their maker, and almost never bring true
happiness. Go, now, and I pray I don't
see your sweet face for many years."
"As you wish, Armand. My father." I stood and without another word ran from the Theatre, ignoring
Santiago when he called for me. I would
miss Santiago. If I could have been
considered as having a single companion in that time, a lover if you will, it
would have been Santiago. I can't
explain why. It simply happened that
way. But that's not important.
The Threatre was destroyed, as
Armand said it would be, and for the first time in my immortal life, I was
truly alone. I had no companion, no
lover, no father. Santiago had been
killed by Louis, and I still bear ill will to Merciful Death for that. It was not the late nineteenth century, a
New World awaiting me. I instantly grew
weary of Paris, the moment I was on my own.
I traveled South to Spain, and spent less than a year there. I found their way of speaking positively
vulgar, their customs, traditions, and standards for behaviour severely
off-putting. I was almost tempted to
return to France. However, when I
traveled farther to Italy, I fell in love.
I stayed in Venice for ten years, so much did I enjoy the language, the
people, the city itself. The canals
that flowed through the city were murky, but they glistened from the light of
the moon, and I loved to ride in the gondolas that floated in such a leisurely
fashion through them.
It was during this time in Italy
that I came upon another of my kind. I
was wandering outside of Venice, around the Italian countryside, when I came
upon a steep hill, nearly a mountainface.
I tried to make out what was at the top; there had to be something
there; yes, definitely. Of course I was
curious, as is my nature, so I began to climb.
My steps were careful, and I tried each hand and foothold before
advancing, the skirt of the dress I wore flapping loudly and violently against
my legs. Eventually this became so
annoying that at the first reliable pausing place, I literally ripped the skirt
from me, leaving only a few shreds to keep myself decent. My legs were now open to the elements, but I
was not worried. I continued my ascent
of the steep rocks, and when I reached the top, I was rewarded by the sight of
a large marble building, a mansion I imagined.
Certainly a place of residence.
I mentally scanned the area, and
sensed nothing. No mortals, none of my
kind, not a single soul for miles. Who
would leave such a home? Cautiously I
approached the door, and knocked. Just
to double check. Perhaps someone like
myself was shielding themselves from me.
I waited several moments, even knocked again, but there was
nothing. The only sound was that of the
wind hitting the house and small trees, the waves of the strait crashing
below. I carefully began to push open
the door, when I heard an Italian voice behind me, deep, smooth and kind.
"Don't you think the owner
of a home would be upset if you committed an act of breaking and
entering?"
I whirled around to face the
source of the sound. A man, an immortal
to be more accurate, over six feet tall.
He had a slightly muscular build, I could tell those he stood several
feet away from me. His hair was pale
blonde, near white, and was pulled back from his face by a single black ribbon,
holding it at the base of his neck. His
eyes were a pale yet brightly glowing blue, and they were kind. He seemed to smile with those eyes, as he
did with barely rouged lips. His face
showed not a single line, neither from laughter nor pensive frown. The skin that I could see was liquid marble,
in a very near literal sense. He was
not dressed in the clothing of the times, as I had been previous to the
destruction of my dress, rather he was clad in long fold of velvet robes,
coloured deep red. His hands were
casually clasped in front of him as he waited for my response. I honestly had not seen a more beautiful
creature in all of my years, save my angel Father. This one kept his mind locked completely to me, as I kept mine to
him.
"I apologize for my
intrusion, I had been led to believe there was no one here. Is this your dwelling?" My voice was calm, steady, and sure, though
I got the impression he was quite a few centuries older than I. There was no need to confirm his immortality
verbally. It was quite obvious that he
was what I was.
"It is," he answered
simply. "And who might you me, you
who has not-so-suddenly appeared on my doorstep?"
"You watched me come?"
"Naturally. Who are you?"
"My name is Aurora de
Ruchelle. I meant no offense to your
territory."
"I have taken none. Please," he said with a pause, holding
one gloved hand in a gesture towards the house. "Won't you stay with me for awhile?"
I hesitated. I did not know this immortal, did not even
know his name, and he invited me into his home? I must have let my mental block slip, because he spoke before I
did.
"Do not be afraid,
child. I mean you no harm...I am
lonely. If your not knowing my name is
what trouble you, you may call me Marius."
"Marius...I appreciate your
kindness and hospitality, and though I believe I should be offended by being
addressed as 'child,' I shall accept your offer."
He laughed, a powerful, hearty
sound. "I am many, many years your
elder, Aurora. At my age I should have
the right to call almost anyone a child.
You may consider yourself more, much more than a fledgling, but you are
not even four hundred years old. I can
sense it. Please, come
inside." He stepped over to me and
gestured again to the door, pushing it open for me with the other hand, so I
eagerly complied.
The house was enormous, and
beautiful, so beautiful. The moment I
entered I fell in love; the large rooms, the oriental rugs, everything about it
was tasteful and gave off an impression of ancient style. I wondered idly how old her really was, and
followed that thought with one of
trying to determine why it should matter.
Still, I asked out of pure curiosity.
"When were you made, Marius?"
"When Rome was still Rome,
and not a part of Italy. You needn't
say when you received the Gift. I
know. I could tell a fledgling of my
Amadeo anywhere," he said as I followed him into a comfortable sitting
room, like a kind of study. He gestured
in a friendly way towards a large, soft chair, so I sat with him taking the
seat across from me.
"Amadeo?" I asked, my
voice and face skeptical. "I am
sorry Marius, I do not know anyone by that name."
He relaxed in the chair, resting
his hands casually on the arms.
"Oh, yes you do. He might
not have told you his real name, but you know him. My Amadeo is a boy with an angel's face, and a devil's
charm. You know him very well," he
said, his voice quiet and gentle, his face appearing almost mortal in its
movements.
I paused. An angel's face? "You can only be speaking of Armand. That is not his true name?"
"No. I adopted him when he was but a mortal boy,
and gave him the Dark Gift when he was only in his seventeenth year. Please do not ask me to tell the story; I do
not wish to speak of Amadeo, in fact it saddens me to merely utter his
name."
"Alright," I
complied. "Not another word of
him."
"Why did you come here,
Aurora? What is your business?"
"I have no business. I make my territory not far from here, and I
merely saw the house. I certainly was
not aware there was another immortal in this area. I am almost relieved, I have not seen another of our kind for a
few years."
He smiled, the expression warm
despite the certain chill of his skin.
"Neither have I. Longer
than it has been for you, I imagine. Is
there anything you wish to ask an elder such as I?" he asked with a joking
tone. "I will gladly oblige,
though I warn you there are some things of which I simply will not speak."
Once again I hesitated. Ask anything? Know anything? This one
had been made in the times of ancient Rome...oh, the things he must know! The things he could tell me! That old...but one thought lingered on my
mind as I watched him, his marble skin, his unmoving posture, the preternatural
glimmer of his hair and eyes.
"...Have we always been on Earth?
Are you the first?"
"The first? I?"
He laughed, the sound hearty and thick.
"Good Lord, no! I am but a
fledgling to that pair. Just a
fledgling."
"A fledgling?" I blinked in surprise. "What do you mean, pair? How can there be more than one first?"
He sighed, his face falling
visibly. "Those Who Must Be
Kept. I had hoped that was one of the
things you did not ask me about, but somehow I knew you would. He hesitated, a pensive look crossing his
rather handsome features. "...Very
well, I shall tell you. But only on the
very strict understanding that you never breathe a word of it to any living, or
undead for that matter, soul. Do you
understand this?"
I nodded, "Yes,
Marius. I swear I will not breathe a
word. You can trust me."
"Yes, I know this. I shall tell you the story of Those Who Must
Be Kept."
"Kept by whom?"
"...Myself, at the
moment."
"You keep them? Why must they be kept?"
"Patience, child,
patience!" he gently commanded, smiling.
"All shall become clear in time.
Now be quiet, if you truly wish to hear this tale."
I went silent, listening to him
in awe, utter fascination as he retold the story of the King and Queen, Enkil
and Akasha, as I know them now. I shall
not tell this story, for Lestat has given it to the world word by word in his
account of his life. My visit to Marius
was not unlike Lestat's own, actually.
I stayed with Marius for many years, and by the time I finally left, I
had heard I had heard the story of the King and Queen, of Marius' receival of
the Dark Gift, and he, a few weeks before my leaving, took me down that dark
and damp staircase to see Those Who Must be Kept.