given me. Not in this world you see around you with all its wonders. He felt driven to reveal our history.” The heat danced in Marius’s face. His fingers gripped the arms of his chair with only a little restlessness. “He tore loose from all bonds that connected us,” he said, “friend and friend, teacher and student, old and young, watcher and searching one.”
“Outrage,” said Thorne, “what else could you feel but fury?”
“Yes, in my heart I did. But you see, I lied to them, the other blood drinkers, our brothers, our sisters. Because once the Queen had risen, they needed me. . . .”
“Yes,” said Thorne, “I saw it.”
“They needed the wise one to reason with her, and deflect her from her course. There was no time for quarreling. Lestat’s songs had brought her forth a monster. I told the others there was no wound. I took Lestat in my arms. And as for my Queen, ah, my Queen, how I denied that I had ever loved her. And all this for the company of a small band of immortals. And I tell the truth to you.”
“Does it feel good to you to say it?”
“Oh, yes, it feels good,” Marius answered.
“How was she destroyed?”
“Thousands of years ago a curse had been put on her by one whom she had treated with cruelty and that one came to settle the score. A single blow decapitated our beautiful Queen, and then from her body the Sacred Core of the blood drinkers was promptly taken into the avenger, either from brain or heart, I know not which, for during those fatal moments I was as blind as all the others.
“I know only the one who slew the Queen now carries the Sacred Core within her and where she’s gone or how I can’t tell you.”
“I saw the red-haired twins,” said Thorne. “They stood beside her body. “The Queen of the Damned,’ said my Maharet. I heard those words. I saw Maharet with her arm around her sister.”
Marius said nothing.
Again Thorne felt himself become agitated. He felt the beginnings of pain inside. In memory, he saw his Maker coming towards him in the snow. What fear did he have then, a mortal warrior facing a lone witch whom he could destroy with sword or ax? How frail and beautiful she had seemed, a tall being in a dress of dark-purple wool, her arms out as if welcoming him.
But I have come here for you. It is for you that I linger.
He wouldn’t fall under her spell. They wouldn’t find his body in the snow, the eyes torn out of his face, as they had found so many others.
He wanted the memory to go away. He spoke.
“She is my Maker, the red-haired one,” he said, “Maharet, the sister of the one who took within herself the Sacred Core.”
He paused. He could scarcely breathe he felt such pain.
Marius stared at him intently.
“She had come North to find a lover among our people,” Thorne said. He paused, his conviction wavering. But then he continued. “She hunted our clan and the others who lived in our valley. She stole the eyes from those whom she slew.”
“The eyes and the blood,” said Marius to him softly. “And when she made you a blood drinker, you learnt why she needed the eyes.”
“Yes, but not the true story—not the tale of the one who had taken her mortal eyes. And of her twin, I knew not an inkling. I loved her completely. I asked few questions. I could not share her company with others. It made me mad.”
“It was the Evil Queen who took her eyes,” said Marius, “when she was still human; and from her twin sister, the tongue. That was a cruel injustice, that. And one who also possessed the Blood could not endure it, and so he made them both blood drinkers before the Evil Queen divided them and sent each twin to a different side of the world.”
Thorne gasped as he thought of it. He tried to feel love inside himself. He saw his Maker again in the brightly lighted cave with her thread and her spindle. He saw her long red hair.
“And so it was finished,” said Thorne, “the catastrophe I beheld as I slept in the ice.
“Outrage,” said Thorne, “what else could you feel but fury?”
“Yes, in my heart I did. But you see, I lied to them, the other blood drinkers, our brothers, our sisters. Because once the Queen had risen, they needed me. . . .”
“Yes,” said Thorne, “I saw it.”
“They needed the wise one to reason with her, and deflect her from her course. There was no time for quarreling. Lestat’s songs had brought her forth a monster. I told the others there was no wound. I took Lestat in my arms. And as for my Queen, ah, my Queen, how I denied that I had ever loved her. And all this for the company of a small band of immortals. And I tell the truth to you.”
“Does it feel good to you to say it?”
“Oh, yes, it feels good,” Marius answered.
“How was she destroyed?”
“Thousands of years ago a curse had been put on her by one whom she had treated with cruelty and that one came to settle the score. A single blow decapitated our beautiful Queen, and then from her body the Sacred Core of the blood drinkers was promptly taken into the avenger, either from brain or heart, I know not which, for during those fatal moments I was as blind as all the others.
“I know only the one who slew the Queen now carries the Sacred Core within her and where she’s gone or how I can’t tell you.”
“I saw the red-haired twins,” said Thorne. “They stood beside her body. “The Queen of the Damned,’ said my Maharet. I heard those words. I saw Maharet with her arm around her sister.”
Marius said nothing.
Again Thorne felt himself become agitated. He felt the beginnings of pain inside. In memory, he saw his Maker coming towards him in the snow. What fear did he have then, a mortal warrior facing a lone witch whom he could destroy with sword or ax? How frail and beautiful she had seemed, a tall being in a dress of dark-purple wool, her arms out as if welcoming him.
But I have come here for you. It is for you that I linger.
He wouldn’t fall under her spell. They wouldn’t find his body in the snow, the eyes torn out of his face, as they had found so many others.
He wanted the memory to go away. He spoke.
“She is my Maker, the red-haired one,” he said, “Maharet, the sister of the one who took within herself the Sacred Core.”
He paused. He could scarcely breathe he felt such pain.
Marius stared at him intently.
“She had come North to find a lover among our people,” Thorne said. He paused, his conviction wavering. But then he continued. “She hunted our clan and the others who lived in our valley. She stole the eyes from those whom she slew.”
“The eyes and the blood,” said Marius to him softly. “And when she made you a blood drinker, you learnt why she needed the eyes.”
“Yes, but not the true story—not the tale of the one who had taken her mortal eyes. And of her twin, I knew not an inkling. I loved her completely. I asked few questions. I could not share her company with others. It made me mad.”
“It was the Evil Queen who took her eyes,” said Marius, “when she was still human; and from her twin sister, the tongue. That was a cruel injustice, that. And one who also possessed the Blood could not endure it, and so he made them both blood drinkers before the Evil Queen divided them and sent each twin to a different side of the world.”
Thorne gasped as he thought of it. He tried to feel love inside himself. He saw his Maker again in the brightly lighted cave with her thread and her spindle. He saw her long red hair.
“And so it was finished,” said Thorne, “the catastrophe I beheld as I slept in the ice.
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