love story between a middle aged woman and a vampire
Cybele and Alaric
A sad little love story
As the cats, Hugin and Munin jumped on and off the bed, Cybele wondered if she’d ever get to sleep past sunrise. She lay still, disoriented even after a year in her apartment. Rolling out of bed, she staggered to the kitchen where light flooded through the dusty window. Looking directly across the street, she had an excellent view of the Victory Gardens on the Fenway. The gardens were a holdover from the Second World War and the lucky few who held plots seldom gave them up. She noted, from frequent observation, that several of the rectangular beds had been cleared of last year’s spent stalks and spruced up in preparation for early peas. This beat the hell out of Vermont where there would be another month of snow and gray skies before spring had even begun to speculate on the possibility of returning. After the departure of her husband of 25 years for greener or at least much much younger pastures, (his T.A. how trite) she had hung on long enough at UVM to complete her Masters in History. Unfortunately the weather there had contributed to her fear that she would sink into depression. She had to get out. There was really nothing holding her in Vermont; ex-wives of faculty didn’t get many invitations to dinner or other social occasions. Her only child, Sophie, was happily married, living in Rhode Island and a mother herself. Cybele struggled on her salaries from part-time teaching jobs and was grateful that Ivan had waited until Sophie was grown before leaving. She made a concerted effort to turn off the part of her mind unable to relinquish the habit of replaying painful scenes over and over in her head and got down the cat food dishes, spooning equal portions for her hungry roommates. “No time to feel sorry for yourself!” she ordered. In fact, it was time to get ready for work. Her day job that is, at a small Boston business college, teaching basic American History to uninterested young people. Tonight she was starting her newest part-time job at the Adult Education Center. Her studies in medieval history had led her to a love of the music and composers of the period, Hildegard, Ockeghem and others no one but Cybele seemed to have heard of. It would be interesting to see who turned up.
She walked into the small bathroom noticing in the medicine cabinet mirror as she crossed to the shower that her dark, shoulder length hair had more white streaks than ever. She was fortunate that she had inherited her mother’s smooth olive complexion and very few lines, giving her a face that belied her late forties.
The music class had gone well. There were 15 people, very diverse in age and background. It was going to be fun. As she stood on the platform waiting for the subway, Cybele became aware of an odd feeling, a tingling warmth at her back. Turning, she found herself looking up into the eyes of one of her new students. He was quite tall, over 6 feet with shiny black hair that looked like silk, caught in a sleek ponytail. His skin was startlingly white but his lips, which were beautifully molded, were quite red. He was dressed in rather formal and very expensive looking clothes. Cybele was pretty sure the coat he was wearing was cashmere. Ho looked to be around forty. She had noticed him, sitting at the back of the classroom, perhaps as a kindness to anyone shorter who might find themselves stuck behind him.
“Hi” she said,” you’re in my class aren’t you?”
“Yes, and I think I am going to enjoy it very much. My name is Alaric Arvern.”
“I noticed you name on the roster. We both have very old fashioned names, I’m Cybele. Tell me, what attracted you to the course? I wondered who’d be interested in such an esoteric subject.”
“There’s something about medieval music that speaks to me. The tonal variations, the tempos. I guess I feel at home somehow.
“I know just how that feels. I’m never so happy as when I’m immersed in the music. I lose track of time and place.” she replied. The streetcar pulled in to the station and they got on. “How far are you going?” Cybele asked.
“To Kenmore” he replied.
“Hey, me too.” They stood hanging on the metal straps, the car swayed gently back and forth. They didn’t bother to try to talk over the squealing wheels.
When they pulled into Kenmore Square Station Alaric asked, “Would you like a cup of coffee? I’d love to talk more about the course.”
Cybele checked her watch. “Okay, but it will have to be a short talk. I have a day job as well.”
They walked up the stairs and out into the damp spring air of Boston. Close by the entrance to the subway was a small coffee shop.
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The first odd thing she had noticed was his breath. It wasn’t bad or unpleasant, but there was a lingering back-taste of something, possibly metallic, when they kissed. They had been together for months now. Alaric had the ability to make Cybele feel like she was the only person in the world when she spoke. His attention was total. They agreed on many things. Although there were not rules about such things at the Adult Education Center, they were discreet about dating. Boston Magazine had listed the center second of “Ten good places to meet compatible singles” but Cybele felt that teacher-student affairs had inherent difficulties. Thinking back to the last year of her marriage, she felt qualified to have an opinion on the subject.
They saw each other almost every night. Weekends she had lots to catch up on at home and he seemed to be similarly busy all day. They usually got together in the evening for a drink, a movie or just stayed in. They talked for hours about the middle ages; she spun her theories about the day to day life of the medieval “middle class” woman. Alaric listened with intensity, occasionally making a comment that expanded on the topic. Cybele wondered how he had so much insight into what she considered “her period.”
She fell in love. She found herself considering the possibility of moving in with him. Alaric had a big old house on outer Beacon Street. He seemed hesitant to discuss the subject. They had in common a love of books and quiet, and a darkness of spirit. More a shadow really. She had lost a marriage in part because of her bent for the minor key in life, her “cynicism” and sadness. He was prone to periods of silence, not a brooding or sulk, but a dampening and coming to absolute stillness. They suited each other.
Alaric worked at home consulting on line and doing research for several publishing companies. He also worked as a researcher for several historians and seemed to have a reputation for careful, concise scholarship, insuring a steady income. Cybele had pressed him for details of his university background and he had named a Czechoslovakian university with which she was not familiar. He seemed to have private means as well.
Cybele was an insecure person, never believing that anyone could care for her, never believing that she was worth caring about. She had made some progress over the years, but the divorce had been a serious setback. Alaric certainly made her feel loved and needed, but if so, why did he not want her in his life all the time? He had an air of confidence about him in general, but there was a reticence to discuss the future. One night after making love, she brought the subject up. It was after 2 in the morning and he rose to dress; he never stayed the whole night. Cybele gathered her courage. “Alaric, this is stupid. I hate not waking up with you Why won’t you stay? It makes me feel sort of, I don’t know, rejected or belittled that you won’t stay over. Why is this happening?”
Alaric stopped dressing and sat back down on the bed. He was wearing only his trousers, his upper body white as marble with the kind of rounded but not bulging muscles Cybele liked. His black hair was loose to his shoulders, a curtain of black satin. He looked like a fine piece of sculpture come to life. Altogether irresistible. Fixing Cybele with a more than usually penetrating look he spoke. “Cybele, I have my reasons for not staying. I want to tell you about them, but I know you won’t believe me. I am afraid if I say what I must, I will lose you.”
“If you don’t tell me, you will lose me for sure.” Cybele replied. “Just tell me now, are you married or involved with someone else?”
Alaric’s eyes softened. “No, you are the first woman I’ve been with for a really long time. I’ve fallen in love with you and find myself unable to think how to proceed from here.”
Cybele asked, “What do you mean, proceed? I’m not looking for marriage you know.”
“So, is this just a fling for you?” he asked.
“No of course not. I’m happy too for the first time in a long time and I’m definitely in love with you. I just don’t need to be under some sort of contractual, commitment. I want to spend more time with you. All my time.”
Alaric turned slightly on the edge of the bed, so that his broad well-muscled back was toward Cybele. His head hung down and his shoulders seemed to be pulled up protectively. In a low voice, barely audible, he said, “Okay Cybele. I will tell you the answers to your questions. Please try to keep an open mind and don’t jump to conclusions until you’ve heard me out.”
I was born in about 80 BC in a part of France, then known as Gaul. My people, the Arverni were not especially prominent; we farmed grain and raised cattle. When I was thirty-eight the chief of our people, Fearcuingedorigh sent out a call to all tribes to come to the aid of his troops at Alesia against the Romans and their leader Julius Caesar. The fighting raged for days. At last we were reduced to a small group at the fort in Uxellodunum. We fought fiercely, none more so than Fearcuingedorigh. But Caesar had the tactical advantage and we were defeated. I had been slashed by a sword and lay dying as the Roman legions came through to finish off those who would not be taken captive or ransomed. As I lay there with the darkness of death closing in around me, I became aware of a figure bending over me. It was a Roman soldier and I tried to prepare for the death blow. Instead he brought his face close to mine, peering at me closely. He muttered something in a language I vaguely recognized as Latin. He reached out, grasping my head and turning it so my neck was exposed. Then he sank his teeth, which were extremely sharp, into my flesh. He began to drink the blood welling out. It was the strangest feeling; I felt as if I was dying, which I was, and in the throes of the most incredible orgasm I had ever experienced. I felt as if I had been transported to a place of black and red light. I seemed to be on a flat stone, sounds I couldn’t make out, a chant, music, cries all around me. There were eyes in the darkness and a sound of leathery wings. The soldier was only a black shape looming above me as he continued to feed. Then suddenly he stopped and we were back on the battlefield, lying in the mud. He stood and called two soldiers over. They picked me up and carried me to a cart, laying me down on the bottom boards.
Alaric stopped; the look on Cybele’s face said volumes. “You’re joking, right?” Cybele managed weakly.
“You must decide that for yourself. Let me go on.”
I passed out from loss of blood and woke up in the bottom of the wagon, jolting over the dirt track. There were other captives in the wagon. We rode for days, those who were well enough forced to walk beside the cart most of the time, although I remained lying down due to my injury. It seemed to have begun to heal and no longer seemed life threatening. At the time I wasn’t conscious of how odd that was.
Eventually, after I don’t know how much time, we arrived in Rome. The first thing I remember clearly is lying on a pallet in a bare room in some sort of house. A man was cleaning my sword wound with a wet cloth and liquid from a bowl. I came to, shrinking from the pain, disoriented and weak. The man applied clean bandages and I was left alone to sleep. I think I slept for days. Finally, one evening the door to the room where I lay opened and the soldier who had drunk my blood on the battlefield entered. I understood no Latin, but it was obvious he was asking me if I was feeling better. I nodded; I did feel more clear headed and stronger. Two slaves came in and helped me up off the pallet and onto my feet. They guided me up a flight of stairs to a different room, very opulent to a barbarian like me. There was a bed covered with a beautifully woven cloth. The walls were covered with paintings, scenes of gardens and mythological creatures, engaged in all manner of sexual activity with humans. The man followed them in and the slaves left, closing the door behind them.
Wasting no time, he covered me with his body. I was still too weak to fight him off. He drank; again the feeling of lightheadedness and arousal coursed through me. I was on the stone altar again, the red darkness surrounded us and the air was full of barely heard sounds. Once again, he stopped and rolled off and lay beside me on the bed. He began to speak and somehow I was able to understand what he was saying to me.
“Don’t fear, I won’t kill you. I wish to keep you for my own uses. You are changing, soon you will be no longer a living man, but like me – unable to die. You will learn to feed as I do on the blood of the living. There are many unwatched children and slaves in Rome, who simply never return home from the market. We will have many interesting experiences, you and I.”
Then he rolled me on my stomach and used me in the manner of the Greeks. When he had finished, he left me to my misery. Why couldn’t I have died back there among my countrymen? I had a wife and three boys whom I would never see again. They would have mourned me by now. I could never go near them, even if I got away, the foul thing I was to become.
The creature’s name was Flavius and he was part of the retinue of General Titus Labienus, Caesar’s right hand in Gaul. Labienus was fascinated by evil, but not one of the undead. He protected Flavius as a way to access the occult and certain, shall we say, unwise and illegal activities. While homosexuality was officially frowned upon, everyone knew that most of the upper level officers were conducting affairs with at least one handsome centurion. I was only one of several lovers Labienus and Flavius shared.
Labienus did see to it that I got some education, I learned to read and write Latin and even speak fairly good Greek. I wore elegant clothes and was at his side at many gatherings.
Labienus was now on the side of Pompey and we fled to Syria, as Rome was no longer a safe place for us. One day as Flavius and I lay in our bed, we didn’t sleep in coffins, a priest of the local temple burst into the room with a cedar stake in his hand. Before I could stop him he had pounded the stake into Flavius’ heart. People had gone missing in the vicinity since we’d arrived and the priest had correctly divined that we were involved. I managed to get out of the room, wearing only the sheet from the bed. It was daytime and I ducked down an open cellar door and hid behind some barrels until nightfall. I went back to the house and got in through a window and grabbed my clothing. I heard later that Labienus was not held accountable for Flavius’ actions, as a matter of fact no one was more surprised than he.”
Alaric stopped, it was 4 AM. He would either have to go now or stay in the apartment for the next thirteen hours. Cybele didn’t say anything. She was looking pretty worried.
“I assume,” he said, “that you think I’m crazy.”
”No, I’m scared you aren’t. Go home, I have to think.”
Alaric finished dressing and left.
Cybele went to work, she came home she lay in bed for many nights not able to sleep at all. The Adult Education classes were over for the season, so she didn’t have a reason to run into him. She had to ask herself why she was even considering ever seeing Alaric again and why on earth she could imagine that his story was true . What in her made it possible to accept such fantasy? Was she as sick as he obviously was? She’d fallen in love with him, true , but so deeply that the discovery that he was completely insane wouldn’t matter? No, just forget about it. Don’t call, change your number, move. The more she thought about it, the more Cybele realized than since Ivan had dumped her, she had developed a streak of self-destructive thinking. Maybe hooking up with a nutcase who thought he was a vampire was her way of committing psychological suicide. Or real suicide. She tried to distance herself from her body’s craving for Alaric. She wasn’t very successful. Finally, after several weeks she called. “Can I come over?” she asked.
“Of course.”
“I have so many questions.”
“I know. Just come.”
It was a Friday afternoon. She let herself into the vestibule, shadowed even in the early afternoon. Alaric was in the library, at his desk. “I’m so glad to see you, I was afraid…”
“I’ve missed you so much. But I really don’t know what I am doing here. If you are telling the truth, I am in danger, if you aren’t I may be in danger. I’m afraid, I’m so thrown by all of this. How is it possible? If it’s true why haven’t you done anything to me? Do you actually kill people and animals to live? Oh God, I don’t think I can handle the answer.” She stopped to catch her breath.
Alaric rose from the desk and came closer, not touching her but near enough for her to feel that electricity that passed between them. “No, I don’t have to kill to live. Not anymore. Over the years we’ve worked out other ways to manage our needs. The profit motive and modern science have combined to make it possible to purchase blood that can’t be used for whatever reason through a well-protected cover network. It works well enough for us, although it isn’t the same as feeding. It’s a trade-off that some of us are willing to make. I, through time, have accustomed my body to an absolute minimum need for blood. I even can consume, as you know, limited amounts of food and I have never known a vampire that didn’t like alcohol.
“We? How many of you are there?”
“Quite a few actually, thousands maybe. We never die unless we’re killed by those who fear and hate us, or accidentally by the direct rays of the sun. Some choose to end their existence for whatever reason. Worldwide there are groups and isolates in virtually every country and city you can name.
“So, are there more of you in Boston?”
“Yes, there are others in the area. I don’t keep in touch with them. We all value our privacy, although there are some that live in groups.”
“Do you know where vampires came from originally? I know there is mention of them in Greek and Roman writing and some indications from Mesopotamian records. Do you have any idea how long they’ve existed?”
“No one really knows, some of the really old ones say our kind were definitely here before Homo sapiens and there is a theory we may have originated on another planet. Of course, I was born a human and changed when Flavius fed on me.”
“Really old ones,” she said, “that wouldn’t include you?”
“No.” He smiled gently, “2000 is not an unusual age for a vampire. Usually after the change a vampire is either killed in a very short time due to stupidity or if he or she makes it past 200, has a good shot at virtual immortality. The really old ones that still exist are more on the order of 5000 years old and are completely mad by today’s standards. We keep them in protective custody as they never agreed or would agree to stop killing for food if they had the chance. They could make things very difficult for us all if they were free to roam.”
“Jesus, they’re not around here are they?
He laughed out loud, “No, they are safely tucked away in a northern European wilderness. Don’t worry, darling.”
“God, Alaric, this is a lot to handle. I feel as if there is a wall between us. I want you to hold me, but I think thousands of years of my evolutionary heritage doesn’t want you to.”
“I understand. If it helps, and it may not, I’ve had human partners many times before.”
“Oh, great! No, that really doesn’t help, no.”
“The last one was in the Napoleonic era,” he teased.
“Since then?”
“Celibacy for a couple of hundred years is not a big deal to a vampire as old as I.”
“So, I’d be the first woman you’ve been with since you stopped, ah, getting your food from live sources?”
“Yes, that’s true .”
“How do you know how you’ll be? I mean isn’t it possible that our being together will make you want to feed again?”
“Cybele, we’ve been together for quite a while now. I’m pretty sure I know how I feel.”
“That’s true . This is so hard, I’m so drawn to you. I know that I don’t want to leave you but I’m so scared. What’s it like. When you used to … you said it wasn’t the same with the blood you buy. What’s different?”
“For one thing, the cold blood doesn’t warm me. I’m sure you’ve noticed I have cold extremities. It’s just different. One is like hunting and killing for food and one is like taking medicine. It can be a very intimate act with a live partner.”
“My comfort level with you having been with men isn’t too great.”
“Sorry, you must deal with it how you must. I guess you’d have to say I’m bisexual, but I suspect everybody is at bottom and we just learn to reject those impulses because of our culture and training. There are even today, societies where it is common for men to have young men.”
“You know, I think I’m going to stop asking questions for now. Just hold me, please.”
He opened his arms and without hesitation she stepped into his embrace. They kissed for a long long time.
“I’m going to drive you mad with questions.”
“As long as you’re asking me questions, it means you’re here with me.”
Later that evening he asked softly, afraid of the answer, “So, do you think you still want to move in with me?”
Cybele didn’t say anything for a moment. “Yes…I do” she answered. “I don’t know what will become of us, but if we can just take it a day at a time and see where it leads, then yes, I really do want to move in with you. You’ll have to have patience with my questions. I have to continue to have my professional and family life. I don’t know how much I’ll tell Sophie, but I will have to let her know where I am.”
“That’s fine. I’d like to meet her someday. There is one thing though that I think I should tell you. I’m sure you had serious misgivings about seeing me again.”
“Oh yes indeed.”
“I’m afraid it might not have been entirely your decision. We have an ability to influence the thoughts of our intimates. I tried to avoid any pressure on you, but I think that I wanted you to come back so much, I may have had some part in your decision.”
“I don’t even know what to say to that. I can’t begin to process this information. Right now, I’m going to pretend you didn’t say it. And frankly, it’s a little insulting for you to imply I’m not capable of making up my own mind.’
“I’m trying to be honest, not to hurt your feelings, Cybele.”
Cybele gave her notice and began the process of getting rid of most of her things. Alaric’s place was big but already full of amazing antique furniture. She called Sophie to let her know that she was moving. Sophie sounded surprised and a bit upset, but Cybele assured her that she knew what she was doing. They made plans for Cybele to go down to visit for a weekend. She made up an excuse for Alaric’s not being able to come.
So she moved into the big, shady old house and settled into the rhythm of life there. Of course there were problems. Any two people who have lived alone for a long while have adjustments to make. Cybele was a morning person. She generally faded by ten PM and Alaric either slept or was very low key all day. The cats were very unhappy; never came near Alaric and spent most of the time hiding under furniture. At first Cybele was afraid to wander around the house, terrified that she’d come across something that would ruin it all. She continued to ask questions, when they occurred to her, but she could see that sometimes Alaric didn’t want to stop and talk when he was working.
It had taken her time to come to grips with the likelihood that his story was true . He didn’t seem at all crazy. But she hadn’t pursued more about his past at first. One evening, a few months after she had moved in, she did approach the subject. “So, we left you a free person, sort of, stranded in Syria in the first century B.C. What happened to you? How did you end up here?” They sat at the big oak table in the library, she with a cup of tea, Alaric with a scotch, neat. They often spent hours in the evening reading or talking at the table.
“Well, Antioch was on the coast. I headed for the harbor and found a ship that was sailing to Greece. I managed to hide in the hold and luckily made it to Athens with no problems. The wind was with us and the trip was fast. I didn’t feed while on board, so I was very shaky and weak when we made landfall at Piraeus, the port of Athens. After dark, when the ship had been unloaded, I made my way off and onto the quay. I had never been to Athens and only know what any well-read Roman of the time knew about it. I headed in the general direction of the city, but before I could get even a half-mile from the docks, I was set upon by someone who knocked me down and began to try to feed on me. He must have realized I was a vampire as he drew back in alarm. Then he reached a hand down and helped me up saying, ‘Sorry, you are one of us, eh?’ His Greek was crude but I’d learned some in Rome. He continued, ‘You look like you haven’t fed in a while. Come with me. I know where you can get what you need.’ I shall spare you the details.”
“Thanks.”
“The upshot was that this person, Theognis by name, took me with him to his group of vampires who lived in a cave in the hills above Athens in very primitive circumstances. They were wild and predatory and very very dangerous. At first I feared for my safety; there are ways that we can hurt one another very badly. But Theognis protected me and after a few days, I was fully myself again. My plan, now that I was able to make one, was to get back to Rome and my contacts there. The likelihood of getting away with another free ship ride was small. The land route was long and would involve passing through the territories of many barbarian nations as well as the possibility of running into the Roman army again. I decided to concentrate on the sea route as quicker, if not particularly safe. Theognis urged me to remain with his band. They were not a brainy bunch and he could see that I would be useful to them. I didn’t say yes or not to him. I did owe him something, but I didn’t see myself living like a wolf for the rest of my days. It seemed to me only a matter of time before the entire group would be wiped out by angry citizens, tired of losing children and sheep to them. I had a natural sympathy as well, for the shepherd they were victimizing, having been a rural sort myself, not so long ago. I made a tentative plan and kept it to myself. It was very different being around wild vampires who smelled horrible and were savage and cruel even to each other. In a perverse way, I had been “lucky” to be taken by a civilized Roman vampire.
I began hanging around the port whenever I could get away by myself at night. I had my Roman clothing and could pass as a pilgrim on his way to consult the oracle. I frequented the tavernas on the dockside and by listening and buying a few drinks for the right people, soon found a mate on a large cargo vessel who was willing to help me stow away for a tidy sum of drachmas. I told him that I was on the run from a woman’s family and had to leave Greece without anyone knowing I was gone. We arranged for me to board the ship the night before it sailed. When I arrived, I was surprised to find that he had a fairly sophisticated arrangement, a large box within a box that was not excruciatingly uncomfortable, although not roomy. It turned out this was a second income for him and, if fact, for several of the lower echelon officers on the ship, all of whom would have to be paid off. Fortunately I had money and really, the trip back to Ostia was more uneventful than I could have hoped. I made my way back to Rome and to a safe house where I was known. And there in Rome, I stayed, living the fairly uninteresting life of the undead until the third century, when the German tribes broke loose and Rome became a far less comfortable place to be.
I need a break, if you don’t mind. I haven’t really thought about much of this for years. I haven’t always been so open with my partners. Is this all too much for you?”
“No, the historian in me is totally absorbed and fascinated with what you’ve seen and done. But the woman in me is mostly worried about what you’ve seen and done. But, no, I can handle it, I think.”
Alaric smiled gently and rose from the table. “Well, want to see what I’ve learned over several millennia about human sexual response?”
“Sure” she said taking his hand.
Sex with a vampire is a difficult matter to understand. Alaric was the most gentle but adept lover Cybele had ever imagined. But there were differences from the norm. For one thing, Alaric’s “extremities” were not the warmest. It was necessary for him to have had some blood recently for him to be able to have an erection at all. One night, shortly after she had moved in and they were in bed, Cybele felt comfortable enough to say, “God, your penis is cold.”
“Well, you could warm it up for me” Alaric replied, gently guiding her head down from his lips. In a short while she could feel that things had warmed up considerably.
After, as they lay side by side, she spoke. “Alaric when we do this, do you actually have an orgasm? Do you ejaculate?”
“Mmm, no, not exactly. I get pleasure from your pleasure. It’s as if I was you, I can ride the wave you are on to the end. But no, I can’t get exactly to an orgasm this way.”
“As in there’s a way you can get there?” she asked slowly.
“I have to find it in the blood of my partner.”
“You mean you’d have to take blood from me while we were making love?”
“Yes, something like that.”
Later that same night, while they were locked together in passion again, Cybele was close to the edge, ready to finish. She whispered urgently, “Alaric, I want you to take me that way.”
Alaric stopped. “Cybele, do you know what you’re saying?”
“No, but I don’t care. I don’t mean bring me over. But you said you could take a little and it would help you to…”
“Yes, it would be the most lovely thing I can imagine. But you understand, I would be taking blood from your body.”
“I want you to. It won’t ever be really right for us until you are getting more than vicarious pleasure from my experience. I want you to.”
Alaric covered Cybele’s face with kisses. He worked patiently, bringing her back to the edge of oblivion and then shifted his mouth to her neck. Cybele was so far gone in sensory overload the small pinprick hardly registered. It had been a long time for Alaric since the rush of heat from a living body, its cellular energy, had infused him. He pulled back mentally, just enough to insure that he wouldn’t lose control completely and hurt Cybele in any way. He was shocked at how quickly his own passion mounted. He whispered, “Cybele, I can read your thoughts, I’m completely inside your being.”
“I know” she answered, “I can feel it. Oh God, this is incredible. Alaric I have never…”
There weren’t any words for what she had never.
One day when she had come in from a lovely walk in the summer sun, Cybele sat down across the table from Alaric. “I want to ask you something. When you changed, didn’t the thought that you would never be able to walk in the sun again disturb you?”
“Alaric laid his book down on the table. “Well, at first I was so preoccupied with just surviving I never thought about it. But over time the memory faded. It was like missing the warmth of a wood stove in a hot climate. Just the absence of something I didn’t need anymore.”
“What was it like for you when you changed? Was it instant? Were you frightened?”
He gave a small sigh. “You’re in an inquiring mood today, I see.”
“Afraid so. I told you I was going to drive you crazy.”
“No, the change wasn’t instant for me. Flavius wasn’t an accomplished or very sophisticated master. He knew when to stop feeding before he’d killed me and always intended to make me his companion, but he lacked the finesse of an older vampire. The change was more like fading away. I slept more and more of each day and when I woke up I felt as if I was becoming transparent somehow. Finally there came a day I slept all the daylight hours and when I awoke, I knew that I had crossed over. The part of me that had clung to life was gone. Call it my soul, or my essence if you like, it was gone. As to being frightened, after the first time he fed, I was so listless and weak that I didn’t really feel anything as strong a fear. I vaguely wondered in sort of a dream state what would happen to me. But once I had changed and fed for the first time, I felt like a mouse might feel if it went to sleep and woke up as an eagle. The power I felt was uncontrollable. Flavius had to restrain me from a rampage and the likelihood of becoming an ex-vampire on my first day of changing. Over time, I got control of my instincts and hunger. I learned to hunt carefully. Eagle is a good metaphor for how we are. I hunted as if from above, looking without being observed and marking out my target in such a way that I could separate it from the crowd and take it down privately without risk of discovery.
Cybele stopped him. This is giving me chills Alaric. I can’t make the person I know the ruthless killer you describe.”
“I know. Sometimes I wonder at your trust and naïveté Cybele. I am what I am.”
Cybele wanted a garden. She had grown up with gardens and needed growing things around her to soothe her soul. In deference to Alaric’s schedule she made a night garden, behind the big arbor vitae hedge that walled them off from Beacon Street. First she researched night-blooming flowers like cereus and moon flower. Then she put in highly fragrant mock orange and honeysuckle as well as heliotrope and stock to release their intoxicating odors in the warmth of summer nights. She planted luminous white flowers to reflect and bring light to the space. Finally, she contacted a garden center and had a small, perfectly round pool installed. The bottom of the pool was lined with Mylar, giving it the effect of a mirror. At night to pool seemed to gather the dim light from the sky, like a small moon, bound to the earth. Alaric was very pleased with the garden and often spent the late hours of the night alone on a bench, gazing into the pool, his preternatural stillness somehow appropriate to the atmosphere created by the plants and water.
Time passed. Cybele got a full-time job teaching History at a small college where Ph.D. status was less important. Alaric continued to do research for various publishers and private writers. Their lives could only be called very quiet and that was fine with them both. Cybele began to feel anxiety about the fact that she was physically aging and Alaric never would. She didn’t speak about it to him for quite a while, but it began to color her interactions with him as well as her thoughts. She was careful about her body and dressed well, if a bit casually, but time took its inevitable toll. She thought about plastic surgery then didn’t think about it. She became slightly obsessed with exercise and Alaric who was very perceptive picked up on her distress. After tears and a painful wrenching confession that she was sure he would soon not care to touch her anymore, he held her until she stopped crying. When she had settled down and he was cradling her in his arms, he spoke. “Cybele, there is a way, if you really feel you can’t stand aging. I could help you.”
“Don’t even say it!” she cried. “I’ve gone over that possibility in my mind more times than you can imagine. Do you think I want to leave you alone? Do you think it isn’t the most tempting thing a mortal can be offered?”
“Had you noticed that I was alone?” Alaric asked, his voice somewhere between anger and pain. “I’ve told you I have had other partners. None of them ever chose to stay with me. A few did change but then either killed themselves or were killed. Can you think how it is for me to lose love after love?”
“Oh Alaric, I’m sorry I’m sorry.”
“No, I can understand why you wouldn’t choose to live forever. It really is a curse.”
“Do you know, if it wasn’t for the fact that I have a daughter and grandchildren, I don’t think it would be a problem for me at all. But I cannot stand the thought of everyone whom I love, except you, dying and me going on. It’s not the right order of things. To see your children die before you is the worst think I can imagine. Let’s not talk about it anymore now, okay? I will try to get over my vanity. I hope you can see into my heart well enough to stay in love with me even if it is encased in a fragile mortal shell.”
“Don’t worry about it so much. I love you more than ever.” He promised.
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Over the years from time to time Alaric had filled in more of his story. After the fall of Rome, he had gotten away with a group of other Roman vampires and their hangers-on to Constantinople where the Empire was still a reality. There were thousands of his kind in the city. Some hinted that the Emperor himself was perhaps kindred, but that was just vampire gossip. It was a very heady time with nearly public acknowledgment of what they were and what they did and at the same time a very dangerous period. The Byzantine Church was particularly dedicated to eradication them as minions of Satan. There were secret orgies that ended in blood baths for some of the participants and still, those who knew flocked to the gatherings. Eunuchs especially seemed interested in being changed. One night during a particularly hilarious party where much Falernian wine (the last of its kind, smuggled from Rome) was consumed, someone did change a eunuch from the Emperor’s retinue. The idiot went back to the palace and proceeded to savage much of the female household and several of the slaves. There was honest to God Hell to pay. The Emperor sent his soldiers to the house where the party had been held and they arrested everyone they could find. Since it was daylight, as they were dragged out of the house most of the prisoners collapsed in a puff of ash. Fortunately for him, Alaric was not living in that particular place at that particular time, but he found himself once again on the run.
He was not alone this time, however. One of the other vampires staying in the same place was a former Irish monk who had been changed by a Coptic vampire who came to his rocky island monastery from Egypt. Liam was his name, and he convinced Alaric they should head back to England then on to Ireland. The trip took almost two years, mostly on foot and was fraught with many unpleasant adventures Alaric preferred to put behind him. Eventually they arrived in Londinium, modern day London, which was already a city of some significance. They made the usual contacts with the local group and settled into a small compound on the Lambeth side of the river. Liam was anxious to return to Ireland. Alaric was happy to stay where he was, so they separated.
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Cybele’s teaching job was really getting to her. The fact that the students were largely business majors and had to take History as a requirement guaranteed that there were few in the classes that showed any real interest or enthusiasm for the subject, especially for medieval history. She was one of two History faculty members. She was adjunct due to her Master’s degree. The other man was a tenured professor who had endured a disappointing professional life and considered himself badly used by academia. This had the happy effect of allowing Cybele to do pretty much anything she wanted and teach any period she care to most of the time. She had little luck getting students to sign up for Medieval History but Early American History was well subscribed. She made them read about Stuart England in order to understand the Puritans. She’d begun to fantasize about quitting and doing more research for a book. She knew that Alaric could help her with details as long as she focused on places and times when he had been present. It was tempting, but it felt like cheating to interview someone who was witness to an event rather than the usual teasing out of “facts” from myriad obscure references.
One night after dinner, (she cooked for them both and he politely always ate a little, although the entire subject of garlic had become a bit contentious) she spoke. “So then, can I ask you about the Viking raids in England? I know you were on the East coast but I’m sure you were aware of them. Did you have any interactions with them? Did you see any attacks?”
“Yes, we made forays to places where we knew they were. They would spend the day ransacking and making an unbelievable mess of things, hacking the limbs off men, stealing everything they could get their hands on. Then at night they would sail back into an inlet and set up camp on the banks and get so drunk that we could walk in and feed on them without ever waking them up. The problem was, feeding on a Viking was to get very drunk very fast; the alcohol content of their bloodstreams was incredible. We killed some of them and left other alive. When they woke in the morning, I wonder what they thought had happened to their comrades. ‘The Vikings,’ he mused, ‘it’s hard sometimes for me to understand how the Scandinavians became so rational and peace loving. Maybe they used up all their aggression. They certainly were stupid when I knew them.”
How did you get to North America? I can’t see you as a Pilgrim father somehow.”, she joked.
“Right about that. They were the most unpleasant, psychologically damaged bunch of idiots I’d ever seen. No, I traveled over to Canada in the early 18th century when it was till New France, on a ship again, but as a legitimate passenger this time. Several of us were in need of absenting ourselves from England in a hurry and one of the other members of our circle had an associate who was not a vampire. When there is heavy religious repression there will always be those who will turn to the occult and satanic worship as a reaction, and vampires were surely considered satanic. This man was very rich and was convinced to fund an expedition to North America to look into the fur trade which was making the French very wealthy at the time. He bought a ship and hired a crew. We kept to our cabins during the day. The crew was uncomfortable with our presence, although they didn’t really understand what we were, but money talks. We arrived at what is now Halifax. I had a contact, a Frenchman I had known earlier. He found us a safe place to stay on the outskirts of a trading post. The native people seemed to know about us as soon as we arrived and were very hostile to our presence. After a nasty, cold, hard winter some of us agreed that we’d like to take our chances further south. We joined a party of traders who were heading for New Amsterdam to trade furs with the Dutch. There were Huron guides with the party and they were very suspicious of us, seeming to never take their eyes off us. We were too frightened to feed on the way, we did grab some animals but it was not a pleasant trip. We had to stay out of sight during the daylight hours.
“How did you manage that?”
“There was sort of a covered wagon that we all had to stay in. It didn’t work well and we were all ill most of the time as well as being worried about the Hurons chopping us up while we slept.”
“Poor babies,” Cybele murmured. “Mean old injuns.”
“Sarcasm isn’t your best feature, dearest.” Alaric said with some asperity.
“Yeah, well, sorry but surely you get that most humans were not going to be particularly happy to have you around.”
“Yes, but one thing I want you to understand. I’m not sorry for what I did or how I did it. No more than a lion is sorry when it kills to live. When we became “civilized” in the not very distant past, it was a decision made on the basis of concern for our own safety as much as for ethical reasons. In the modern world it became harder to slip under the radar. There weren’t so many police and other law enforcers in the old days. So while I can understand why you wouldn’t want to live with me if I still lived the life of a hunting vampire, you have to try to deal as best you can with my past. It’s just that. My past.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. I do deal with it as best I can. Pleas don’t be angry with me.”
“Okay, let’s just stop with story telling for now. It wears me out.”
Alaric and Cybele had been together for ten years. One day, when Cybele returned from work, there was a message on the machine. Alaric didn’t pick up during the day. It was her doctor’s office. They wanted her to come in for some repeat routine screening tests, something had messed them up and they needed to be done again. Of course, the tests weren’t messed up, just accurate and Cybele found herself face to face with a life threatening illness. It was uterine cancer, the type women of her age got. She met with the specialists recommended by her primary doc, participated in the treatment plan, underwent the radiation and chemo. Sophie came up as often as she could. Alaric seemed unable to cope with her illness and frankly was not much help. He folded into himself. At first Cybele was angry and hurt that he was not supportive. Finally she understood that he was so frightened that he might lose her that he couldn’t think of anything to say or do. He had no experience of modern medicine, had never lost a mate to illness. When she was home from the hospital and able to be up and around again, they sat one evening at the big table. She couldn’t believe the panic in his eyes. He gave of energy like random bolts of tiny lightning bouncing off the walls. The sat, an uncomfortable silence between them for quite a while.
Finally he asked, “Are you feeling stronger?”
“I’m okay. Still weak. The doctors say I’ll begin to pick up strength in a couple of weeks. I can even start to think about work soon.”
Alaric said, “I’d like to talk to you about that. It isn’t necessary financially for you to work at all you know. I have more than enough money for us both.”
“I know, and that’s great, but I’m not sure I can stay home all the time even with such a handsome man.”
“You wouldn’t have to stay home. You could volunteer more when you felt up to it. You don’t have to have the tiring grind of working full time.”
“Thanks, love. I will think about it.”
“There is something else I want you to think about.”
”Mmm?”
“You know that I can change things so you’ll never have to worry about illness again, right?”
“I know” she answered softly.
“Cybele, please, I can’t lose you. I don’t think I can go on without you. I don’t want to go on without you.” He put his head down on his arms and wouldn’t look at her.
She got up and walked around to his side of the table. She knelt down and put her arms around him. “Alaric, do you remember when you told me about when you first were changed, how you mourned the fact that your family was still alive yet you could never go near them again?”
“Yes.” He said, his voice muffled by his arms.
“Well, I’d feel the same way. I couldn’t stand not being able to see Sophie or the kids again, but I would fear seeing them if I was changed. She’d know.”
“But you could leave me?” he asked, sounding for all the world like a five year-old boy.
She answered gently, “In the living world it’s something we all face finally, one usually goes on before the other. It is hard, harder I think for the one left behind, but it’s part of the cycle of life.”
Alaric said nothing. Cybele could feel him closing down. After sitting there a while, she got up and said, “I’m sorry if I’ve hurt you. But try to remember what I’m going through right now. I have more than enough worries without…” She left her thought unfinished and left the library.
That night he apologized for his lack of consideration. “I know that you’re burdened with a lot right now. I was being selfish.”
“No,” she said. “It isn’t selfish. It must be awful to have this happening again. But there’s no reason to think that I won’t get better.
But she didn’t get better and it was only a matter of months before Alaric had to make a call to Sophie to come as soon as possible. Cybele had insisted on being at home. They had nursing help in the daytime, Alaric discreetly “out.” At night he took care of her. When Sophie arrived, Cybele asked Alaric to leave them alone for a while. He left the room, pacing the house, unable to settle or sit.
When Sophie came out of the room she was red-eyed. She said, “Can you come back in now?”
Cybele was propped up slightly, pale as the sheets. Pale as Alaric. She said in a whisper, “I’ve told Sophie how I want things to be done. The two of you will have to decide what part each of you plays. I love you both and I’m so sorry to leave you. But I can feel that this is about it for me. I’m so tired.”
It was over in an hour. Cybele breathed her last; her body pain free thanks to modern medicine but not her heart or mind. The dying, if they give a thought to others when they die, must always be sorry for the loss they are causing, the pain they can’t be there to assuage.
When she could stop crying enough to speak, Sophie said, “Alaric, Mom wanted to be cremated and her ashes scattered on top of Gorham Mountain in Maine. I’d be glad if we could to that together. She didn’t want a service of any kind.”
Alaric seemed almost in a trance but finally he answered, his voice barely audible, “Let me make the arrangements and collect the ashes. We can meet there when the weather is better.”
“Yes,” she replied. “I’ve got to get home to my family soon. Maybe in May or June when things thaw out up there we can go.”
“Yes, I’ll call you.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Alaric pulled the car into the parking lot at the base of the mountain. Although the national park hadn’t opened for the summer season, the road was passable. Leaving the alabaster urn in the car temporarily, he got out and crossed the road to the cliffs above the sea. It was about two in the morning. He’d left Boston after the sun went down about eight o’clock. There was a full moon lighting a path across the water. The Bar Harbor bell buoy rang rhythmically, punctuated occasionally by a fog horn farther out. He found a flat place on the rocks and sat down. He spoke as if to himself, “Well, Cybele here we are. It certainly is beautiful. I wish you could see it. The water shimmers like a live thing, and the smell of the sea is so wonderful. I feel your presence in this place I know you loved. I’m happy I could bring you here and that we’ll be together now.” After a few minutes he rose and walked back up the slope to the car. He reached inside and drew out the urn. He began the climb through the pine forest. It was dark under the trees even with the moon, but he could see very well in the dark.
The peregrine falcon woke to the gray morning light on the cliffs above the sea. She launched herself off the rock face in the never ending search for food for her two chicks. As she caught the first thermal updraft of the day, she noticed as she soared over a certain peak, a figure, sitting upright, human apparently. If she had the interest to fly closer, she would have seen that it was a tall slim man of about 40, with gray eyes and long black hair combed back from a narrow high cheek-boned face. He held a small urn made of stone in his lap. He sat calmly facing the ocean waiting for the first rays of the sun to reach the mountain top and him. Later that day, the falcon would have noticed, if she had been at all concerned, a small party of climbers heading for the same peak. When they had attained the summit, they would discover the urn, surrounded by a few puzzling ashes. After waiting a while, they went ahead with their business, catching a breeze and scattering the contents of the urn to the wind. The ashes on the ground stirred in the breeze and lifted away from the little group and out toward the sea, following, it almost seemed, those that went before.
When John Gideon is transported to the extraordinary world of Illúmaril, he’ll soon discover that his entire existence has been leading up to the shocking destiny he’ll soon fulfill.
Taerak's Void
(Book One of Fantastica)
A new series by multiple award winning author, M. R. Mathias
After finding a strange medallion and some maps with markings that no one in his village can understand, Braxton Bray decides to
