The Price of Fear
Tristan smiled wistfully. “And messy they were. In any case, my lord never showed any disappointment in my refusal. He kept up his nightly visits, and now that I knew what he was, he often stayed in my hut during the day as well, and I closed all shutters to keep him from the light. I went on writing my poems and talking to him about them, and I was content to live like that forever.
“Now that my lord had revealed to me he was centuries old, we could talk about his past. He told me of strange places and ages, of adventures, explorations, and great discoveries. I listened to him, drinking in every word. This was when I learned that the world was a wondrous place, and I yearned to see and experience all of it. One day he told me how he had been turned. He told me of his family and their deaths and his decades-long grief, and I felt humbled he would share with me a part of his soul.
“He taught me history and geography, and brought me books. You cannot imagine how rare and expensive they were—before the invention of the printing press, each book was handwritten and painstakingly crafted. I stayed up late reading, and we talked about the stories for long hours.
“I saw sketches in some books, and they captured my imagination. My lord told me I could create these myself, with a piece of cooled charcoal over my paper. As a vampire, he could no longer paint, unless reproducing a picture already drawn, but he knew the techniques in theory and taught me all of it. I followed his guidance and sketched everything—the table and chair, trees and vegetables in the garden, the fireplace, my small hut. Sometimes, he amused himself by copying my drawings, but I saw his frustration that he could not create new artwork.
“Writing. Drawing. Talking. My life was perfect. I was reborn into a new person, not the reclusive village boy, but someone with an understanding of the world, and curiosity to keep learning and growing. And then, on a clear spring night, she came.”
“Callisto?” Myra asked.
“Callisto.” He nodded, his gaze faraway. “She was a fairy tale come to life. She was quick-witted and knowledgeable about music, art, literature. I could talk to her for hours. Honestly, I have no idea how my lord would look at Armida twice after he had known Callisto.”
“You’re being unfair,” Myra said. “Armida was from a small village when she was turned, as were you. Naturally, she wasn’t familiar with art and culture at first, and neither were you.”
“Yes, but she never really grew to care about any of these things,” he said. “Ruling and power were on her mind more than anything else. When we prepared for the Nightfall, every time my lord hesitated, she pushed on and on.”
Myra frowned. This was new to her, but she was unsure if Tristan’s account was objective and could be trusted.
“After a month, the days grew warmer,” Tristan continued, “and my lord and lady said I could go and live with them in their cave. I expected a cold hole in the mountainside and started packing blankets, but they said I would have everything I would need. And so I asked my neighbor to keep an eye on my garden and told him I would travel to the village on the other side of the mountain to look for work. I followed my lord and lady through the woods and up the rocks, and when I stepped into their world of wonders, I lost my breath.
“It was no cave. To my commoner’s eyes, it was a castle. Rich carpets and tapestries covered the floor and walls, and cushions, pillows and blankets lay everywhere. There was so much silk, and pashmina, and gold and precious gems. My lord and lady gave me clothes so bright and clean, soft and well made, and I felt like a true lord. And the food—ah, the food! Meat and cheese and fruits, and pastries, and wines from southern lands. You see, vampires require no food for sustenance; they only eat it to enjoy the taste. And this means they never bother with any food that is not worth tasting. Everything in the cave definitely was, and how!
“They taught me to sing and dance, to fight, to hunt. I learned to sleep during the day and hunt at night, just like them. I could not see well under the light of the stars, but they were always close to me to help and protect me.
“My lord told me about the book he had written and could not finish. I asked him to read it to me, but he said his knowledge of my language was not good enough for him to make a good translation. This surprised me—his knowledge was more than good enough to discuss my poems, and if not for his accent, no one could have guessed he was not a native speaker. I told him I would love to learn more languages, and he said he would be happy to teach me.
“The nights passed in a constant bliss, but I suspected the two vampires were not as happy as I was. I knew they loved human blood most of all, and it gave them strength that animal blood never could. Usually, vampires would travel constantly and never stay in one place for a long time, so that the frequent kills would not become suspicious. But now they had to stay here because of me. Only my village and two more were nearby, and they never killed anyone there to keep a low profile. Normally, they would not have worried about avoiding attention, but now they had me to worry about. And so they had to survive on animal blood, and drinking each other’s blood for the taste.
“I often watched them as they shared blood and found the ritual mystical and fascinating. I wondered what it felt like and wished to be a part of it one day. I knew that if they did not invite me to share in their rituals, it was not for a lack of desire.
“They thirsted for my blood. I could see it in their eyes, even if they had enough self-control not to show it in any other way. And one day I found the courage to offer them to taste me.
“Callisto refused right away. She said it was too dangerous. She had never before drunk a human without the intent to kill, and she was not certain how long I would last. If she took away too much, she said, they would need to turn me to save my life, and they did not want to do it before I was ready.
“But then I insisted. I told them I did not merely want to repay their kindness. I wanted this, I truly did. I wished to know the taste of darkness.
“My lord said that the decision was mine to make. I was not a child, and I knew enough of the risk. We debated it for some time, and in the end, they agreed. They prepared me for the big event. Callisto braided my hair, dressed me in the finest clothes, and laid me on the most luxurious cushions and bedsheets, covered in fresh flowers. I told them I did not wish to destroy any of the fineries, but they assured me they would not let even a drop of my precious blood go to waste.
“My lord suggested they go one by one, so that they could stop each other in case one got carried away, but I refused. ‘I want you to do it together,’ I said. ‘I trust you.’
“And they did. I do not need to tell you what it felt like. I believe you already know.”
“I do,” Myra said softly.
“They took such good care of me after that,” he continued. “They made sure I was always well rested and had plenty of food and drink. I felt uncomfortable with the two of them acting like my servants, but they said I was precious, and I was important, and I deserved all comforts given to me.
“The next few weeks were bliss. If I could freeze them in time and relive them over and over again, I would never move on. But then, they had to leave. In a world ruled by humans, a vampire was not meant to stay in one place, and they did not wish to. They were to travel to southern Africa, they said. They would return after their trip to visit me and see how I was faring.
“I begged them to take me with them, but they refused. The road was dangerous for a human, they said. They would go to places where the water carried diseases I was not accustomed to. They did not say it out loud, but I could almost hear their thoughts—I would be a burden. I would slow them down.
“There was a way for me to join them, Callisto told me. She said she believed I was ready to be turned, and if I agreed, they would take me with them. There was nothing that I desired more—to be like my lord and lady, to travel the world like they did, never to be parted from them until the end of time. But I knew it was impossible. I knew if I lost my ability to write, they would soon tire of my company and leave me behind. And so I declined her generous offer, hoping that they liked my poems enough to come back for more.
“When they left, I was terrified. I feared they would never come back, and yet I forced myself to write more and more in case they did. My poems grew worse, and I knew it—I no longer wrote because I was inspired or felt the need to. I wrote because I was scared. I wrote because I thought that if I ever stopped, I would lose them forever. I let my hair grow long, in a desperate attempt to imitate my lord, but deep in my heart, I knew I could never be like him.
“As autumn came and the days and nights grew colder, I returned to my village. Luckily, no one asked too many questions about where I had been. No one cared, and for that, I was grateful. I spent my days in the garden, writing and sketching. I no longer sketched only what I saw, but also scenes I imagined. I drew distant mountains and seas, and myself among them, dressed in fine clothes, my hair reaching to my waist. In these sketches, I was sometimes walking through fields of flowers, sometimes on horseback, sometimes flying on the wings of eagles, but always with my lord and lady by my side.
“Winter came, lonely and cold. Spring turned to summer, and with every passing day, my fear that they would not return grew, until it had consumed me. I could not live like this. What was the point of poetry, if I had no one to show it to? No one to discuss it with for long hours? Years ago, I had been content simply to write for myself, but now, knowing true happiness, I could no longer go back.
“One summer evening, I was sitting outside underneath the apple tree, trying to write, when a guest appeared at my yard door.
“It was Ralf, a merchant from the nearest town. He was always on the road and often passed through our village on business. But I never got any visitors, and I had hardly ever spoken to Ralf before. I knew his appearance could mean nothing good.
“I had been gone for some time, he said. And I had returned with some fortune. No one had seen me take any work recently, or take out any goods to the market, and yet I always had enough coin to buy what I needed. This had been noticed even before my going away, he said, and now people were beginning to wonder.
“I wanted to kick myself, but the truth was, there was nothing I could have done any differently. I had been careful about spending, never buying more than what I needed, even though I could now afford a lot. I had tried to be as discreet as possible, but there were goods I had to buy. I had sometimes considered taking up work for appearance’s sake, but that would mean sacrificing time I could spend writing. I asked Ralf what he was implying, and he gave me his oiliest smile.
“Rumor had it that I had worked in a neighboring village for a few months, he said. But he had traveled all around the region, and no one had ever heard of me. This had led him to the conclusion that my money had a shady source. He offered me a deal—he could either share this information with the village elders, or he could help me.
“If the elders declared me a thief, the executioner would flog me and cut off my ears in the best case or hang me in the worst. But Ralf could keep his discoveries to himself and confirm my claim that I had worked with a wealthy landowner in a nearby village, where I had saved some coin. Of course, if I wanted him to help me, I had to share my wealth with him.
“Naturally, I was not going to give any of my lord’s money to that creature…”
“Yes, of course, you couldn’t share Vlad’s hard-earned money.” Myra rolled her eyes.
Tristan glared at her. “I told you, my lord has never been a common thief, so you can spare me your sarcasm. And I would never sink so low as to bribe this man. I had no idea how to get out of this predicament. All I could think of was stalling for now and then packing my things and leaving before I was brought to the authorities to explain. And yet, I knew I could not simply run away and try my luck elsewhere. If my lord and lady ever decided to return and look for me, I wanted to make sure they found me.
“I was just about to tell Ralf to go to hell, when he suddenly fell forward. I stepped back on instinct, letting his body fall to the ground with a thud, and stared at the black-fletched arrow sticking from his back.”
“How convenient,” Myra said. “Can you people for once find a civilized way to solve your problems?”
“This was a common way to solve problems at the time,” said Tristan, “and humans practiced it no less than vampires. But when I saw the arrow that had precisely found the man’s heart, I had no doubt who had fired it.
“My lord looked exactly as I remembered him. Tall and graceful, his black-and-crimson tunic perfectly fitting his frame, his fur-lined cloak waving in the soft summer breeze.”
Myra cleared her throat. “Yes, we’ve already established you’re smitten with the Prince. For someone who has lost his poetic skills, your purple prose is surprisingly… well… purple.”
Tristan burst into laughter. “I am sorry, my dear, but we both know you are the one smitten with the Prince. I was merely poking fun at you.”
“I am not…” Myra sighed inwardly. Whatever. “Please continue.”
He winked. “As you desire, my lady. And so, my lord was back. Before I had even expressed my joy at seeing him, he told me to get inside the hut while he took care of the body. No one would ever find a trace leading to me, he promised, but I did not want to listen. I did not want to part from him, because I feared that if I left now, I would never see him again.
“He told me once again to go inside, and this time I obeyed. He must have returned no longer than an hour later, but it seemed like eons to me.
“Callisto was not with him. He said she would be away for some time, and then would come and meet with us in my hut. You see, she and he were not as attached at the hip as he is with Armida now. She wanted to go to Mongolia, but my lord did not wish to stay away from me for so long. This world could be a cruel place for a lone human with a pure soul, he said. He wished to check on me and see how I was faring.
“I showed him my new poems and trembled with fear he would condemn them, but he found something good to say about each of them. He stayed with me for a month, and, at first, all was well. But then, I fell ill.”
“Again?” Myra blurted out.
“The times were hard,” he said. “Disease was lurking at every corner. And yet, these were my thoughts exactly. Again? I felt embarrassed. I did not wish my lord to see me like that, weak and helpless and in need of care.
“And yet, he did all in his power to show me there was nothing to be embarrassed about. He had seen the best and the worst of me, and he did not think any less of me. There was nothing I could do to embarrass myself in front of him. He had seen it all and accepted it.
“As my illness grew worse, so did his worry. I assured him that there was nothing to be concerned about, that it would go away like it always did. He told me I did not need to suffer. He could turn me and put an end to it all. But I knew that as soon as he did, I would lose my ability to write, and he would no longer have a reason to stay with me. And even as the pain and suffering worsened every day, I assured him I was well. And then, I started coughing blood.
“I tried to hide it from my lord at first, but eventually he found out. He said he had seen this sickness before, and very few ever survived. He begged me to let him turn me, but I refused. I saw that it pained him to watch me like this, and I tried to hide my suffering, but soon I could no longer do so.
“Day and night I was burning with fever, and I said things I could not recall later. I was melting away like a candle; I lost so much weight that I looked like a skeleton, and my skin turned yellow like wax. And the coughs never ceased. The pain was growing worse and worse, as if there was a rat inside my chest, eating away at my lungs. I could almost feel its teeth, cutting through my flesh like many tiny knives.
“In my rare moments of sanity, I would find my lord kneeling by my side, holding my hands in his and begging me to let him turn me. My answer was always the same, even though I had long ago realized that I would not survive this. I knew I could not bear to be alone again, now that I had known what it was like to have company.”
“Why were you so certain he’d leave once you could no longer write?” Myra asked. “He was offering you eternal companionship.”
“I did not see it this way at the time,” he said. “I had seen how little time he and Callisto spent together, even though they were lovers. I assumed vampires preferred solitude. I was irrational, perhaps, but to my terrified mind, it seemed logical.”
“But why were you delaying the inevitable?” Myra asked. “You couldn’t keep him by your side with your poems for much longer. You were dying.”
“I preferred to die than spend an eternity by myself. But, most of all, I wished to keep him by my side for as long as I could. And so I kept writing, or at least, I tried to. My works were no longer anything but nonsensical blathering, but I kept going on. He had not left yet, which meant he liked them. It meant my poems were good enough to give him an incentive to stay.
“Once I woke up from a fever dream, knowing this day would be my last. And then, I found him there, by my bed, glaring at me with stormy eyes. He was furious. Angry at himself, but mostly angry at me. I had spoken during my feverish oblivion, and I had expressed my fear that he would leave. He asked once again for my consent to be turned, and when I refused, he asked me why. I repeated the same lie I had been telling him—that I would miss my ability to write.
“He squeezed my wrist with such force that I saw stars. He said that he would not force me to do anything against my will, but if I gave up on eternal life for no other reason than foolish delusions, he would never forgive me. His eyes were red as he swore to me that he would not leave me when I was turned, that he had never planned to, and I was a fool to believe otherwise. I did not believe a single word he said, but it pained me to see him in such distress. And when it was clear that I could never again lift my hand to write another poem, I said yes.
“He opened the shutters and stepped back, letting the light fall on my face. This was the last time I would ever see the sun, he said, and I had to say my goodbye. And I did, my heart crying bitter tears, thinking that I was saying goodbye to the only light that had ever graced my life.
“It would hurt only for a moment, he assured me as he leaned down to bite me. But he was wrong. It never stopped hurting.”
“You never recovered,” Myra whispered, everything finally coming in place. “Your lungs were rotten, destroyed by the disease. You’re still in pain.”
He nodded. “The pain is sometimes very strong, sometimes unbearable, but every once in a while, it becomes mind-numbing. In any case, it never goes away. My lord was stricken when he found out. He did everything possible and impossible to cure me. He tried both magic and science, but to no avail.”
“Science?” Myra said. “I can’t imagine there was much written on the physiology of vampires.”
“Why do you think my lord needs books to teach him? He is a scholar. He could write his own science. He captured and imprisoned many vampires and for long years conducted experiments. He thoroughly tested every hypothesis, grasped at every straw. He even kidnapped sick humans before turning them, to replicate my circumstances as much as possible. He removed all or part of the lungs of some vampires and transplanted the organs of others in them, and meticulously recorded how they all coped. And yet, he never found a cure for my malady.”
Myra shuddered, her heart freezing in shock. Nausea twisted her stomach in a knot. She had always known Vlad was a monster. She had always known he had no conscience when it came to humans, but to know that he had mistreated his own kind in such a sinister way would give her nightmares for years to come.
“So this was the medical research he mentioned,” Myra whispered.
“Does that bother you?” Tristan asked. “He wanted to cure me at all costs. To him, the end justified the means.”
“And to you?” she uttered. “Did you agree to this horror?”
He shrugged. “At the time, I was busy getting used to the pain. Now I can manage it better, but it has not decreased in any way. There is only one thing that can soothe it, at least for a while.”
“Blood.”
“Yes, any kind of blood helps to an extent,” the vampire said. “But only one can bring true relief. I told you each vampire has a special connection to their sire, but it goes further than that. The blood of the sire has healing properties. It can bring more strength and comfort than any other. Only when I drink my lord’s blood can I forget about my pain.”
“Something else bothers me,” Myra said. “A sire creates a vampire from a human. It’s like giving birth. There is a parent-child vibe to this whole sire-sired thing.”
Tristan nodded. “The sire-sireling relationship is rich and deep. There are many aspects to it, many facets. The parent-child thing is only one of these facets, but yes, I would say it is there.”
She grimaced. “You know, this makes the Vlad-Armida thing really disturbing. Or Vlad-Callisto, for that matter.”
“Sire-sireling relationships are very common,” Tristan said. “After all, if the sire chooses a human, it means they must have liked them. And the sireling’s love for the sire is a given.”
“Speaking of sire and what do you call it—sireling—relationships,” Myra said, “what happened to Callisto? She didn’t die, did she?”
“Oh no, thank heaven and hell, of course not,” Tristan cried. “She is alive and well. Nothing particular happened. I guess she and my lord simply grew apart. They wanted to pursue different paths in life and had different priorities that did not involve each other. She is living in North Africa at the moment, and she and my lord still keep in touch.”
“I see,” Myra said, “And yet, the moral of your story falls flat.”
“Does it?” He raised an eyebrow. “You are the storyteller here. Please explain.”
“You say I shouldn’t fear that Vlad would lose interest in me if I lost my ability to write,” she said. “And you give yourself as an example. You claim the Prince wouldn’t have spent time with you as a human if he had only been interested in your poems, and not in you as a person. But you obviously still doubt his motivations. You believe he stayed with you because of guilt and because of an oath he swore on your deathbed. You wonder if things would be different if you were healthy.”
Tristan stared at her and, for the first time, there was no annoying comeback. “So nice of you to tell me what I think,” he said coldly. “Now, if you do not mind, I wish to rest.”
“Tristan, I didn’t mean…”
His eyes bored into her, stormy and hard, and Myra fell quiet. She stood up, dusting off her pants, and gave him a small, hesitant smile. “Have a refreshing rest,” she said softly and left the prison cell, locking the door behind her.