Last Vampire 6(45)
I feel as if all my powers, the ones I left behind in the twentieth century, have returned to me. Come back just when I no longer need them. I am surprised, now that my mission is complete, that my staring at the stars does not bring me back to Alanda and Gaia and their spaceship. Bat maybe I don't want to leave yet. I promised Dante I would wait for him and I am determined to wait. I don't care how long it takes, long past hope I will sit here. Or, indeed, I even consider the possibility of returning to the castle to see if he has been taken captive once more. I could free him, save him.
But the latter is all bravado.
I will not go back to that castle.
I swore it once before and I swear it again.
The stars, as they are reflected in the pond, move lazily on the faint motion of the water. They are beautiful and I feel as if I can stare at them forever. Yet my mood is not peaceful. There is music in my head and it will not go away. I hear a strident refrain from Richard Wagner's Parsival. It is almost as if, staring at the heavens, I look upon a vast stage where Wolfram von Eschenbach's Parsival is still being played out. I see the knights striving to fulfill their quest for the Grail, and then,Kl ingsor, in the background, always out of sight, obstructing their every move with his magic wand, the Spear ofLo nginus. I wonder if I should have left it inL andulf s body. The sacred stabbed through the sinful. But I had feared to approach the center of the pentagram to retrieve it.
Even when he was dead, I was still afraid of him.
It is a truth I have trouble accepting.
I am afraid even now. The stain bothers me.
How was Klingsor stained? What was his mark?
The play explained it all. If only I could remember.
Something about a certain kind of smoothness.
But I cannot remember. No.
Nor can I understand why Dante was so insistent that I understand the meaning of the Medusa story. He was such a simple fellow, full of phobias and goodness, but when he spoke of mythology, he spoke with great authority. Almost as if another personality used his mouth and lips. I keep feeling as if Dante had been trying to warn me of a deeper threat. One that could not be seen because the true power of the wizard was that he was able to control one's will. Capable of turning whomever he wished to stone, so that he or she did not move unless the wizard wished it.
Could that be the real meaning of the Medusa tale?
The Gorgon did not merely kill her enemies.
She placed them under complete mind control.
Doubts continue to assail me. Questions that are more like ancient riddles. What about the snakes in the hair of Medusa? What about her fair face? Dante had emphasized that the latter was crucial. And I had laughed and told him it was time to concentrate on what was real. But I of all people should have known that reality was not always what it seemed.
A profound certainty sweeps over me.
Dante had been trying to warn me of something unseen.
Then I see him. And it is a miracle.
He is struggling up the path to the pond, limping badly, gasping for breath. In a moment I am by his side, helping him to sit down on a large rock not far from the water. He is in worse shape than when I saw him last and is already babbling about how sorry he is that he is late, and why he is late. I can't get a word in, but I am so happy to see him that I weep. Really, it is one of the most wonderful moments of my life. God hasheard all of my prayers.
"The passageway was blocked," he says rapidly, with hardly any air in his lungs. "There was a large stone. I had never seen this stone before. Never! My lady, I didn't know what to do. I tried walking back in your direction, but I couldn't find you, and I kept slipping in the water. My brace kept falling off, and once it almost floated away. I would have been crippled! Then I took another path that I know but no one else knows and I went back into the castle and by all the saints in heaven I knew I was going to be put back in the prison. But everyone ignored me! The knights were running all over the place and the servants were crying and it sounded as if something horrible had befallen LordL andulf."He pauses to breathe and his eyes shine with hope. "What befell him, my lady?" he asks.
I have to smile. Yet there is no joy in it and I wonder why. My happiness is tempered with regrets I can hardly explain to myself.
"He died," I say. "I killed him."
Dante bursts out with laughter. But then he catches himself and quickly does the sign of the cross. But his relief is not to be contained and a moment later he is howling in pleasure again. He jumps up from his rock and hugs me and shakes like a child. Yet the news is too good for him. He is having trouble believing it.
"Is he is really dead?" he keeps asking. "Are you sure it was him? Did you see his body? Are you sure it was his body?"