By Anne Fraser and Barbara Zuchegna
With assistance from Sharon Pickrel and Jean Lamb
Copyright 1999

Chapter Fourteen

Oct. 30, 1998

Stephen;

I suppose it is typical male behavior on your part, but it has lasted long enough. Lily is a mess. What are you going to do about it?

Dinah

Oct. 30, 1998

Stephen,

Based on the scowls Dinah is sending my way these days, I suspect she will be writing to you very soon to tell you all my troubles. I would be grateful if you wouldn't take her too seriously.

Give Doni my love, and for my sake, don't let her worry about me. Or you either.

Fondly,

Liliana

The visitors had been greeted with full honors in Sa'idi, and given quarters in the headman's house. Adrian's welfare was paramount, so he got the best available space that had no exposure to sunlight. What was strange was how readily the headman had accepted this ... Everyone else had to make do as comfortably as possible.

Jake slept soundly, worn out by his emotional distress and the troubled sleep he had been having most days on this journey. Since he picked up no psychic vibes of sexual activity while he slept, upon waking he could only assume that Richard had not slept and that Adrian had shunned all offers from the Baluchi. He wriggled out of his bedroll and stood up, grimacing at the horrendous taste in his mouth. He was terribly thirsty, though at least the welcoming feast last night hadn't upset his stomach. He was already recovering from his reaction to the border patrol incident. He reached for his canteen and paused, frowning. Was that ... music?

He rinsed out his mouth with some water that tasted exactly like water should taste after being carted around for several days in a canteen through desert and mountains. Damn. Hopefully he could find some fresher stuff to actually drink? He pulled on his clothes -- no point in wearing the burnoose around here, these people knew he was no Baluchi -- and went to investigate. As he drew nearer the front of the house, he definitely could hear music and sounds of some kind of celebration.

He found Adrian, up and dressed already, poking his head out the door to see what was going on. Ed was just coming out of his cubbyhole. There was no sign of Will, Richard or Alexis.

"What's going on?" Jake asked.

Adrian turned, concern flitting across his mobile face. "How are you feeling?" he asked.

"Better," Jake replied. "How about you?"

"Me? I'm fine," Adrian said, though he didn't look fine ... oh, hell, Jake thought, the man's dead, of course he doesn't look fine...

"What are they doing out there?" Jake asked, to get the topic off himself, which might lead to a rehash of two nights ago's activities. He didn't want to start throwing up again.

"Looks like a party," Adrian replied. "They have a couple of bonfires, some torches, food and music... Ed?" he turned to their expert.

"It's a festival," Ed replied, "the anniversary of these people coming to these mountains and being welcomed into the Baluchi. It meant freedom for them, from slavery and from the tyranny of fanatic Muslims ... nobody up in these mountains observes strict Islamic law, and it's hard to enforce it up here. So you'll see women who aren't in chadori or purdah, and they have quite a bit of freedom."

"Should we join in?" Jake asked. "I mean, we don't really know these people..."

"To not join in their celebration would be a violation of etiquette, Jake," Ed assured him. "Our hosts will be deeply offended if we don’t go party with them."

"I don't feel much like partying," Jake sighed. "I just keep remembering that night..."

"A necessity, Jake, or we would never have reached this place," Ed said firmly. "Put it out of your mind and go have a good time. There will be dancing. And remember what I said about the women ... they are freer than any other Iranian women."

Jake looked blank. Adrian turned and studied his friend, shaking his head. "He means," Adrian said, every word dropping heavily from his lips, "that there's a good chance you can finally go get laid." He slapped Jake on the back. "Go on, boy. Go have fun."

"Aren't you coming?" Jake asked.

"In a minute. Go on."

Jake edged past Adrian, who seemed in a very weird mood, and he and Ed both went to investigate the festival.

They would find Richard and Will already among the revelers, Adrian knew. He himself shrank further back into the shadows in the doorway, practicing his "you don't see me" mind whammy.

"That doesn't work on ghosts," said a voice behind him.

Adrian didn't quite jump. Only a ghost, he reflected wryly, could sneak up on a vampire. She gave no clues to her presence -- no sound of breathing, no perfume, no movement of clothing.

"Hello, Alexis," he said with a slight bow.

"It looks like a fun party," Alexis said. "Why aren't you going?"

"Like Jake, I don't feel like partying." Adrian pointed to where Mansour and one or two others were eyeing the various black Baluchi girls with appreciation. "They don't need me now, they've got women; and there might be trouble if one of their women fancied me. I've caused enough of that kind of trouble." He thought again of Naajy, and sadness stabbed him.

She cocked her head at him, "mom" senses on full alert. So much like Stephen ...

"Is that all?" she asked.

"Hell, no, Alexis, of course that's not all. I watched as those same genial, grinning boys who so diligently guarded me and shared a little fun and companionship brutally slit the throats of unarmed, helpless men." Adrian shrugged, turning his face away so that she couldn't see his eyes. "It just feels strange, that's all."

"And how would those boys feel to know that the Effendi Adrian, whose beautiful body they so willingly guarded, is an undead creature that drinks human blood to survive? Hm?"

"That's different," said Adrian illogically. "It's not like I can help being what I am. "I don't kill when I feed, not anymore. And even the other night ... I couldn't have killed an unarmed man. What the Baluchis did ... it was savage, Alexis. And I let those same savages share my bed."

She reached out and took a grip on his chin, forcing him to meet her eyes. It would have been a brave mortal who did that, but Alexis was beyond Adrian's power to harm.

"Were they savage then?" she asked quietly.

"No," Adrian admitted.

"Then what is really bothering you?"

"I'm not really sure. Mostly I'm worried sick about T'Beth. The closer we get to finding out what happened to her, the more I'm afraid that ... that she's dead. She's my oldest friend, Alexis, my big sister. I don't want her to be dead."

Alexis released his chin. If he really had been Stephen, she would have given him a mom hug. She patted him on the shoulder instead. "I know," she assured him, "and none of us have forgotten that she's the reason we're here. But we can't help her until we find out what's happened to her. That will be soon, I think. Until then, why not go out and enjoy the party? It doesn't mean you have to end up having sex with someone."

"Just say 'no', huh?" Adrian snorted, but he smiled. "All right, lady, you talked me into it. May I escort you to the cotillion, Mrs. Carrington?"

She gave him a Look, set on stun. "That's Ms Colby now, as you perfectly well know."

He smiled, a bit of the old devil dancing in those incredible eyes. "Then, Ms Colby," he said with a courtly bow, "may I escort you to the cotillion?"

"Why, Professor Talbot, I'd be honored." Alexis hooked her arm through his offered one and they somehow sashayed out of the narrow door together, and went to the party.

Jake was fascinated by the festival on one level -- a chance like this, to observe the native customs of a little-known ethnic group, was something any cultural anthropologist would ... um, kill for. His stomach threatened rebellion at the thought, and he abruptly sat down and put his head between his knees. Shit, shit, shit ... that was two night ago, dammit, Fowler ... get over it...

"Vaje-ye?" a voice filtered through his misery. He looked up blearily to find a rather pretty, dark-skinned Baluchi girl peering at him. "Is the vaje-ye well?" she asked in some concern. Her English was fairly good, he thought.

"Just a little stomach problem," Jake grimaced.

"May I get you something to soothe?" the girl asked.

Jake thought that asking for gingerale and a Gravol would probably only lead to confusion. "If I could have some cold water..." he began.

"Of course, vaje-ye," she said, and scurried off before he could say that he was quite capable of fetching it himself.

A minute later, she was back, with a jug of fresh water. It was even cool, though not cold. Cold water wouldn't have been too good on a sour stomach, anyway, Jake reflected.

"Thank you," he said, looking at her questioningly. "Kanum...?"

She giggled, then hid it behind her hand. "Kaniz," she corrected him. "Kaniz Lafeeta." She pointed at him. "You are better now, vaje-ye?"

"Jake," he said. "I am feeling a little better, yes, thank you, Kaniz Lafeeta."

"Vaje Ja'ake," she smiled. "If you are better, will you come and watch me dance?"

"Um, sure," said Jake, wondering at the signals his body was getting. This girl was coming on to him, in her own way; he was sure of it. But if he made a mistake, and she was just being friendly to the guests, they'd all be up shit creek if he made a move on her.

"I must go serve food," she said, "but I will come look for you when the dancing starts. You have promised, you must not forget, Vaje Ja'ake." The look she threw him left him in very little doubt about her intentions.

Jake gave her a couple of minutes ... and gave them to himself, too, to calm himself down. His initial reaction was "hoo boy!". He sipped some more of the water, felt his stomach complaints recede. Ed had certainly been right about the women up here being free. Apparently, they were so free that they wasted no time when they saw a guy they liked. Of course, Lafeeta (what a pretty name!) didn't know how much time she had ... they didn't know how long they'd be staying in Sa'idi. And tonight was festival ... apparently a time when anything went.

Standing up carefully, Jake left the water where it wouldn't get spilled and where he could find it again if he needed it, and risked his unquiet stomach by going over to check out the food. There was couscous, and he took some of that as being bland enough not to offend. Lafeeta was serving, and threw him a big smile that several people noticed ... including, Jake saw in despair, Richard.

The king came over to Jake, and the young anthropologist's heart sank. There went his chance to do some real undercover investigating of Baluchi customs...

"Are you feeling better, Jake?" the king asked, noting how little food his friend had taken.

"Still a little tummy upset," Jake admitted.

"You should try to eat a little more, if you can," Richard advised. "This lamb stew is quite mild." He closed one eye in what, in a less somber man, might have been a wink. "After all, you will need all your strength to fully participate in this festival." He walked off, leaving Jake gaping after him.

When everyone had eaten their fill, at least for the time being, and the mood was growing wilder, the music picked up its tempo and the village women stepped into the center of the ragged circle of watchers to dance.

After his surprising encounter with Richard, Jake took his couscous and lamb stew back to the place where he'd stashed his jug of water. There was liquor being passed around, in defiance of strict Islamic law, but Jake didn't feel much like drinking. He didn't want to be sick again.

He ate slowly, letting his stomach settle down again. It seemed to accept the offering quietly enough. Jake very deliberately kept any stray thoughts of blood out of his mind.

The music washed over him, a weird mix of shrill Middle Eastern and the darker tempo of African. It seemed to have thoroughly affected the Baluchi, though the liquor being consumed was probably contributing a healthy share to their rising spirits.

A few of the younger women had begun dancing, and Jake couldn't help noticing that these were hardly harem girls. Lafeeta had joined the dancers, her pretty face breaking into a smile when she noticed Jake watching her. He waved and she laughed. Jake felt heat rising. He shifted on his perch, and wondered how his companions were faring.

Richard was sitting with the headman of Sa'idi, watching the festivities. Courteously, of course. Will was nearby, his posture stiffly stoic. Stupid galoot should be in bed, Jake thought. That arm had to be hurting like hell. Weren't bullet wounds prone to infection? Will needed medical attention, but of course he would do his damned duty.

Two of the village girls were trying to convince Alexis to join them in the dance. Jake figured that Alexis wouldn't need much convincing. He was right, she was soon laughing and trying to imitate their moves.

Jake's eyes nearly bugged out of his head when he saw Ed Perry and a woman about Ed's age huddled together, sharing a jug of something, Ed's arm around her waist. Holy shit, the guy was human!

Speaking of non-humans...

Jake couldn't spot Adrian. Worried, he shut out the music and laughter and concentrated. Adrian had been in a dark mood these last two nights. Jake was suddenly glad he hadn't made the remark about Naajy's death he'd intended to. He stood up and peered around, using his mental bond with the vampire to try and locate him. Nothing. His mental pleas went unanswered. Either Adrian was not within range, or he wasn't receiving messages.

The music penetrated Jake's thoughts again, and Lafeeta was tugging on his arm, urging him to join the dance. Jake couldn't play nursemaid to a broody vampire all night, could he? He followed the girl, laughing.

Eighteen years old, full of ambition, proud of his reputation as one of Shahid's band of cutthroats, and now he was dead.

Adrian sat on a rock near the spot where they had buried Naajy, with honors. The actor's concealing cloak hung from his shoulders like furled wings. In the filtered moonlight, his beauty looked unnatural, some effigy carver's attempt to capture the face of a grieving angel.

In four hundred years, there had been many Naajys; many eager young faces, broad grins hiding a killer's soul, many hot kisses in the dark night and the sweat and groping fingers of down and dirty sex. What was one more? What was one more dead boy?

Adrian had not killed Naajy, had not lured the young man to his death in the mountains. Ambition, the desire for honor, for sons, for money ... these had killed Naajy. Adrian hadn't even taken enough of his blood to weaken the boy.

They all die, sooner or later. Friends, lovers, the quickies in the theatre dressing rooms or in the dimly lit public washrooms in gay bars or in the cheap hotel rooms. He hadn't known Naajy, not in any real sense. To Naajy, Adrian had simply been a diversion on the trail, something for the young bully to brag about. Something, as Jake had said, to be won in a dice game. To be used.

But, dammit, it wasn't fair!

Eighteen. Adrian could remember being eighteen, if he concentrated. Not a good year to remember, actually; he'd been eighteen when Kit had died. But Naajy had had a whole life ahead of him, no red-haired lord was waiting to lure him into a never-ending unlife.

"Quite a curse you gave me, Carrock!" Adrian said fiercely, out loud. There was none to hear him but the dead and a couple of curious horses. "Always Hamlet, indeed! Always the outsider, the half-mad Prince, cursed to watch everyone he loves die around him, whispered to by ghosts, plotted against by his friends. Always ... alone." He stood up, pulling the cloak around him, though he did not feel the chill of the desert night. "Farewell, Naajy," he said sadly. "May you go to the heaven of your choice, and protect many pretty girls against bears."

A snatch of music from the party caught his ears as he turned. A festival, he thought, was always held to celebrate life. No matter what you called it; if it was a festival of lights, of fasting, of celebration of spring, or winter, or freedom, or just plain craziness; if the god you gave thanks to was called God, or Jehovah, or Allah, or Quezalcoatl; deep down they were all about being alive. Granted, he'd been to vampire parties, but those had a certain kind of frenzied energy of their own that came from the knowledge that the participants had nothing to give thanks for and nobody to give it to. The music was coming from a very human party, where humans were doing human things like eating, drinking, dancing, and throwing up. Such as he had no place at an entirely human event -- the skeleton at the feast, indeed.

T'Beth, he knew, would have slapped him so hard his ears would ring for a month if she'd heard these thoughts. Let her be alive.

He moved down silently from his vigil, and walked through the center of the party unseen just to prove he could do it. He thought Jake's eyes turned on him for a second, but then the anthropologist was being pounced on by the girl who'd singled him out and he lost all interest in Adrian. Smiling a little -- let Jake have his fun, he'd earned it -- Adrian leapt lightly as a cat onto the flat roof of the headman's house to watch the party. No harm in watching.

Was there?

He had to find a way to sleep when this was over.

Richard Plantagenet sat, legs folded neatly but not very comfortably on the cushions that were the only seating provided, watching the dancing villagers. He had not slept in two days, and he was reaching the fine edge of exhaustion that would compromise his ability to think clearly. Somehow, he would have to find the privacy to sleep when this night ended.

The "black Baluchis," he had discovered, came in every skin color from palest tan to deepest umber, and had facial features that ranged from blackamoor to Semitic to European princess. With the exotic variety of clothing they wore, it created a scene of swirling color and movement, in which Jake Fowler, Richard was pleased to see, seemed to have been caught up. Adrian was nowhere in sight.

The man sitting on Richard's left, whose name was Ardeshir and whom Richard had learned should be addressed as "Vaje" Ardeshir, was a deep reddish mahogany in color and wore a long robe striped in bands of green and tan over tan tunic and leggings. Around his head a smallish white turban was wrapped, a rather conservative turban when compared to many of the much larger and dramatically wrapped versions some of the younger men wore. Ardeshir spoke excellent English, in a voice so deep it actually vibrated, and had a gentle, smiling sincerity about him that inspired trust. He had greeted the newcomers last night with impeccable courtesy, seen them through a blessedly brief welcoming ceremony and a meal that seemed to involve everyone in the village, and then herded everyone off to bed with admirable efficiency. Told of Adrian's need to avoid the sun, he had listened gravely, and arranged at once for Adrian to be taken to an area of his house where no sunlight would penetrate. He did everything, Richard thought, with quiet competence, and this probably accounted for his position as headman here, when there were other men available far senior to his forty or so years of age.

Tonight, with his guests fed, the dancing well underway, and the visiting Pakistani Baluchis occupied elsewhere with the village girls or in noisy trading, Ardeshir leaned over toward Richard and said, in his deep rumble, "Vaje Richard, it would be good for us to speak privately, I think ... with perhaps your friend, the Vaje Adrian?"

Richard had been hoping for just that, but had no idea where Adrian was to be found. He said, "If you will give me a moment, I would happily comply." At Ardeshir's understanding nod, Richard unwound his legs and stood. His muscles protested; he was going to have to rest soon.

The crowd was moving back toward the edges of the square now, clearing a space into which the younger women of the village came, their eyes bright with excitement. The music had changed, was strangely sensual as it increased in tempo, and as the women began to dance, the African heritage of this place became evident. Nowhere in Islam would women dance in this manner, sinuously and blatantly suggestive, outside the confines of the harem.

Richard made his way around the edge of the circling onlookers, watching the men's expressions change from laughter to something much earthier, to where Jake stood, watching as well, with a stunned air about him. One particular young woman, Richard saw, was making Jake the object of her dance, and Jake was certainly aware of it. Richard had to say his name twice to get his attention. "Where is Adrian?" Richard asked him.

"I don't know." Jake's eyes swung back to the dance. "Don't worry about him, Richard. He can take care of himself."

"I'm sure he can," Richard said dryly. He caught Jake's arm, his fingers tight enough to cut off circulation, and said pleasantly, "You can speak to him with your mind. I want you to do so. The village headman has asked to speak with us."

Annoyance flickered over Jake's face, and then vanished. It really wasn't all that much to ask, he had apparently decided. He concentrated for a moment, and then seemed to be listening, and then said to Richard, "He'll be right here."

And he was. Richard could not see where Adrian had come from; most likely, he had been exercising his ability to move about unseen by normal mortals. "What's up?" Adrian asked. His voice was geared to good-humored curiosity, but both Richard and Jake were aware that it was forced. Adrian was unhappy about something.

"Vaje Ardeshir, the headman, has suggested a private meeting with me, and with you," Richard told him. "I would guess that these people know why we are here, Adrian."

Ardeshir met them halfway around the circle and led them back to his house, which opened onto the square. Behind them, the music was becoming faster and wilder, and the women were spinning feverishly in their dance. Jake Fowler had forgotten all about Adrian, or Richard, or just about any other damned thing except the dark-eyed girl who had pulled him, now, into her dance.

"Please," Ardeshir said politely, as he closed the door on the square, "it will be quieter if we go to the back of the house."

He led them there, to a small room with more comfortable seating ... low stools rather than floor cushions, and had a servant bring chilled wine. Richard commented on the iciness of the beverage, and Ardeshir said, "We are fortunate in our well. It is the reason our village was founded in this place, and the water is very cold. It is our practice to lower our wine into the well for a time before serving."

There were a few moments of polite conversation, during which Ardeshir questioned them about the arduous nature of their trip and they complimented him on his village and the apparent happiness and prosperity of his people. This, it seemed, was the natural lead in for which Ardeshir had been waiting. He sighed mournfully, but honestly, and said, "In this place, we have been pleased to live undisturbed for many generations. Unfortunately, this is no longer true. Vaje Adrian, if you are the man we have been expecting, our unhappiness, I think, is your own."

Adrian resisted the impulse to exchange glances with Richard. Instead, he said, "I was not aware that anyone here was expecting me."

Ardeshir said, "Then you will not recognize this?" From a pocket of his robe he withdrew a folded scrap of paper and offered it. There was only polite inquiry on his face.

Adrian took it and unfolded it. In a very familiar hand, the scrawled message was, "Adrian. Don't give these people a hard time. They're friends of mine. T'beth." Richard, leaning over to see, recognized it as well.

Adrian's eyes came up to meet Ardeshir's. His hand shook a little. "Where is she?"

Ardeshir did not look happy. "You have a matching message, I believe?"

Adrian did. He took it from his pants pocket, a bit worse for wear, and handed it over. Ardeshir smiled slightly when he read it, then handed it back.

"Then you are he. I thought so." His smile broadened. "You are very welcome here, as she was, Vaje Adrian."

"Where is she?" Adrian repeated. Was. The man said "was." She couldn't be true dead. If Adrian breathed at all, he would have held his breath now.

"Alive, to the best of our knowledge," Ardeshir said quickly, aware of what Adrian had to be thinking. "It has been some weeks since we last had word, but we have every reason to believe she lives yet ... at least, that life of the kind that you and she share."

Richard was watching Adrian, whose hands had steadied now, but whose face had taken on a strange tightness. "And what sort of life is that?" Adrian said.

Ardeshir spread his hands wide. "The unlife," he said simply. "The exalted life. The life of a vampire."

Adrian Talbot found it very odd to sit in a room full of people who knew he was a vampire, and who found that not at all odd.

Vaje Ardeshir had invited into the room two elderly gentlemen and three very elderly ladies, all of whom smiled at Adrian with unexpected delight, as if having him there was just about the greatest thing that had ever happened to them. And every one of them knew what he was.

They weren't at all interested in Richard. Adrian, damning his ego all the while, couldn't help enjoying that. And Richard didn't seem to mind.

These were, Ardeshir told him, the village elders. These were the people who advised him and who maintained the old traditions, from before their ancestors came, as slaves, to this country. The men he introduced as Foroud and Daryush. Foroud was elegantly thin, very tall, a soft bronze in color, and immensely dignified. Daryush was darker, with a prominent nose and very bright and curious eyes, a ready smile, and a belly that actually jiggled when he laughed. He laughed quite a lot.

The old ladies Ardeshir introduced as the Kanums Mahasti, Assieh, and Souri, and they were alike enough to be triplets. As it turned out, that's exactly what they were. The only triplets ever born in this village who had survived, one of them told Adrian quite proudly. They only difference Adrian could detect between them was that they chose to dress in bright silks of different colors ... red, turquoise and gold. He had no idea which one was wearing which color. They were all small, birdlike, with very dark skin and lovely, wavy gray hair, and tiny hands so fragile they looked as if they would break if they touched anything. They laughed a lot, too. It was a very happy group, with the exception of Foroud, who looked on all the rest of them with a kind of glum but fond parental indulgence. He was notably younger than the others, no more than eighty.

He had asked the elders to join them, Ardeshir told Adrian, because they could better explain to him what had happened here ... to the village, to its people, and to T'beth. "The Kanum T'beth was one of us," Ardeshir said. "We knew this at once. She spoke the old language, from before it had changed so much, but these, our elders, understood her. And she was ... what we call Exalted. We did not know this at first. But she came here in the night, and would not stay while the sun rose, and we understood soon enough."

One of the little ladies said something to Ardeshir, and he bent toward her, listening with respectful attention, and then translated while she beamed at Adrian. "The Kanum Souri asks if you are Exalted in the same blood as the Kanum T'beth. She was not of the blood we know here, that we will tell you of."

They meant the change ... the change from human to vampire that T'beth and he had both undergone at the hands of the same monster. He said, "We are of the same blood, yes."

The Kanum Souri clearly understood that much English, and she beamed even more happily and said something else to Ardeshir. He gave this to Adrian as, "Then you are immune, as she was. That is most excellent."

Well ... generally speaking, it was a pretty good idea to be immune to things, Adrian supposed, but he asked, "Immune to what?"

Ardeshir said something in his own tongue to the others, probably translating what Adrian had just said, and this brought even more and wider smiles and head noddings. He hadn't made this many people this happy since the last time he'd done Puck.

Ardeshir was smiling, too, somewhat apologetically. "Please, Vaje Adrian," he said, "there is much we must explain, and little that you will understand unless it is done in the old way. These, our elders, maintain the history ... do you understand?"

Adrian was beginning to. He meant an oral history of their people. In Africa, it was the common manner a people used to remember their past, among those who had no written language. Apparently, even though these people undoubtedly wrote in the adopted Farsi of this country, their history was kept orally, in their own language. And he and Richard were going to have to listen to it.

He glanced over at Richard now, who shrugged ... a sort of "what else can we do?" shrug.

The floor was given, by some unspoken agreement among the group, to the little lady in red, whom Ardeshir addressed almost reverently as Kanum Assieh. She folded her hands in her lap, closed her eyes, and began to speak in a low, pleasant singsong. Each time she paused to breathe, Ardeshir translated quickly.

"The First Ones came into the world in the shadow of the snowy mountain Kilimanjaro," he said soberly. "The mountain spewed forth fire and ash, and among the ashes there was life ... the First Ones..."

It looked like it was going to be a very long night.