Prince Lestat and the Realms of Atlantis Read online

  Rhoshamandes had returned and in his hands he held a large ax with a long thick wooden handle.

  Derek was terrified. It was the kind of ax Derek had seen in hotels and other public buildings, usually residing in a glass case against a wall, an ax to be used in case of fire, an ax that could chop through plaster and wood with its mighty head and its cunning sharp edge.

  "Yea gods, you can't be serious!" said Arion. "Rhosh, put the thing away, I beg you." He was the smallest of the evil tribe, and looked so wholly human as he stood there, in his simple leather coat and jeans. "Rhosh, I cannot be a party to such cruelty!"

  "And who are you to question Rhoshamandes?" asked the cold unmoving Roland. "And to think I sheltered you, gave you comfort."

  "Don't fight with one another," said Allesandra. She turned to Derek again.

  "Derek, give us the simple answers to the obvious questions. If you have listened to Benjamin's broadcasts, you know we are many, and you know what power we have. Now confide in us, and give us all that you know so that we might present it to the Prince."

  "Stay out of this," said the king of demons to all of them, as he held his treasured ax.

  Derek turned his head to the side. "I'll tell you nothing," he cried suddenly. "You hold me here against any law in this world." His words came out in sobs. "You keep me your prisoner year on end and you drink my blood as if it belongs to you! I loathe you and detest you. And you, cruel one, the whole tribe despises you and is it any wonder? And you think you can make me an ally?" He tried to stop himself, but he couldn't. "Some night, I'll get even with you for all this, some night, I will have you as a prisoner and you will be at my mercy! Some night you will pay for all you have done to me! Some night I'll get to your Prince and tell him all that you did to me! Some night I'll tell your whole world!"

  Rhoshamandes laughed.

  "You're doing yourself no good at all, Derek," said Roland with his usual icy condescension. "Simply tell us what you know of this Garekyn."

  "This ax is sharp," said Rhoshamandes. Derek was too frightened suddenly to make a sound. He went over the promise of the Parents again in his mind, that if pain was too much for him to bear, he would lose consciousness. And then what? Awake to a world in which he was a butchered fragment of his former self? And would he live on if this demon did hack him limb from limb, even severing his head from his trunk? He gasped and wiped frantically at his eyes.

  "Someone cut off my left arm not very long ago," said Rhoshamandes, "and the effect of that blow was amazing. There is nothing quite like seeing your own limb hacked off."

  "Yes, it drove you mad!" said Allesandra. "It robbed you of all hope and optimism! Now put that tool aside. You will not harm this boy. What would you gain by doing that? You've gone about this all in the wrong way."

  "Don't harm him any further," said Arion. "Can't you bargain with the Prince by offering to bring the boy himself?"

  "No, I need more than that! As soon as they know about the boy, they'll come in such numbers that we can't defeat them, and they'll take the boy!"

  "Why not try it, Rhosh?" asked Roland. "I've given him to you for whatever you wish. Tell them what you have here, a living specimen of the same ilk as the one that escaped. And that we will bring this creature to them at the Chateau if they will guarantee your complete exoneration, if they will welcome you into the Court on terms of full equality."

  "The Prince will keep his word if he gives it," said Allesandra, "just as he did before."

  "I need more than that, much more," said Rhoshamandes. But he was pondering, obviously.

  Derek sat as quiet and still as possible, not daring to hope, not daring to say, Yes, take me to them, to the Prince, and I will tell all, for certainly they could not treat him as horribly as this fiend. For hours he'd listened to Benji's old broadcasts, and realized the great camaraderie that existed within the tribe. They were not all lawless fiends. The Prince was no lawless fiend. But then again, how did Derek know what they would do with him? Could he expect the mercy they'd shown Rhoshamandes when Rhoshamandes had fallen into their hands? Rhoshamandes had been one of them, after all.

  Allesandra made a soft exasperated noise. She stood between Derek and Rhoshamandes, and turned her full attention once more to Derek. She spoke again of "the bulletin" which had gone out over Benji's "live" broadcast this evening, of Garekyn in New York, of Garekyn slaying one of their kind and devouring the brain, of Garekyn wounding a cherished blood drinker by the name of Eleni and escaping the powerful blood drinker Armand. She spoke again of what Armand had seen in the creature's blood. The city. Amel. Derek put his arms over his head and buried his face in his left arm like a bird burying its head beneath its wing.

  Glad he killed one of you, glad he escaped, glad he is free! And blast the intelligence to the whole world on your radio programs! Do it! Blast it to those of you who are not wicked, and not spiteful and not full of evil! Blast it to those who have hearts still in their breasts.

  Rhoshamandes moved Allesandra to the side so that he loomed over his prisoner once more.

  "I saw a city in your blood," Rhoshamandes said, "and now the others are calling this city by a name, they're calling it Atalantaya. Is that the name of this city? Are you the survivors of Atalantaya? This is Atlantis, isn't it, Plato's Atlantis?"

  "Oh, don't give him any ideas," said Roland. "And certainly not anything as grand as the lost kingdom of Atlantis! The little fool. Don't you realize that this creature is likely nothing but some form of mutant, who knows no more about himself than humans know about themselves?"

  Arion interrupted. "They're broadcasting more on this," he said. "There is a woman now under investigation."

  "A woman?"

  Derek kept his eyes tight, listening.

  "Dark skin and the same black hair with the golden streak in it. Well, this is certainly beyond coincidence."

  "What, gold streaks in dark hair?" asked Roland. "What does that mean?"

  "There's more to it."

  Through the web of his fingers, Derek peered out to see Rhoshamandes holding the ax in his left hand while with his right he gazed at the screen of his cell phone. Arion too had his phone in his right hand. Their phones were talking, but the words had no meaning for Derek, something about a great drug company, laboratories, a doctor, a suspicious doctor with a common name.

  "It's one of them," Rhosh said. He was powerfully excited.

  He glared at Derek with narrow eyes. He strode forward and pushed the cell phone at Derek. Derek tried to turn away but another pair of hands had hold of his head and was making him turn to look at the cell phone. A lovely perfume rose from the silk robes rubbing against him.

  "Child, just look at the picture on the phone," said the female blood drinker. "Tell us if you know this woman."

  Fearfully, Derek looked through his tears.

  And there she was all right, most certainly, there she was, without doubt, his magnificent Kapetria!

  He struggled to turn around, to crawl through the very wall to get away from them, to conceal his thoughts and his heart from them. She too lives! He broke into frantic sobs again, sobs of relief and excitement and happiness, let them parse his sobs as they would, he didn't care. They are both alive, Garekyn and Kapetria. He had only to hold out until they found him, he had only to hold out until he could somehow be free.

  "I say call them now," said Arion. "This woman too is on the run. And they are beside themselves. They're calling all to the Chateau. Call the Prince and speak to the Prince. Tell him about this boy. Tell him you want peace and to be accepted again and you'll bring the boy to Court now."

  "I loathe the Prince with my whole soul," muttered Rhoshamandes. "I will not call him nor will I go to his court."

  "That's it, isn't it?" asked Allesandra.

  "Which means what?" demanded Rhoshamandes.

  They moved away back closer to the fire, and Derek peered at them again secretly through his fingers. In the very depths of his soul, he sang th
e word "Kapetria" over and over again. Kapetria. And at all times it will be Kapetria who will determine the time and the place, and it will be Kapetria to whom you are to defer....

  "You want a great deal more than you've ever admitted," said Allesandra, her voice rising in her anger. She reached out for Rhoshamandes and took him by the shoulders. "Rhosh, you cannot destroy the Prince," she said in an imploring whisper. "You are powerless against them. Don't dream of vengeance now. Take the possibility of truce and acceptance."

  "For now, yes, I will and I do, but for always?" Rhosh pulled away from her. "There will come a time when I will destroy the Prince and take that lying demon spirit Amel out of him! And this boy is far too valuable to hand to them on a silver platter. That I will not do."

  "Well, I'm with you in your opposition," said Roland, his voice colder and nastier than the voices of the others. He gazed mockingly at Derek and gave Derek one of his usual vicious smiles. "And if you want to hold on to this valuable hostage, I understand it. But don't go cutting him to pieces."

  "To pieces, no," said Rhosh. "But the removal of one piece might do wonders."

  He lunged forward. Allesandra screamed. There was no escape for Derek. Rhoshamandes brought him up to his feet, turned him around, and flung him at the wall. "You don't have the strength of your friend Garekyn, do you?" Rhoshamandes whispered in his ear, his hand against Derek's back. "Or is it confidence you lack?"

  Derek clawed helplessly at the stone.

  The blow came without warning. The pain exploded in Derek's shoulder, and once again Allesandra screamed and this time she didn't stop screaming. For one instant Derek prayed to die, to perish so that it was all over. He heard his own scream mingled with that of Allesandra, and the world went dark, but only for an instant.

  He woke to find himself slumped on the floor and the pain in his shoulder throbbing unbearably and, with utter horror, he saw his own left arm lying on the floor, the fingers of his left hand curled inward, a piece of lifeless meat wrapped in the filthy white shirtsleeve.

  His eyes rolled up into his head. Their voices were so much babble, and he slid into darkness.

  Far away, he heard a woman pleading. "Now Benedict will never come back to you, don't you see? Oh, when did you ever become so cruel! And this cannot be undone and for all time now this being will exist maimed and robbed of his arm and you have done this, you, my master, my maker." She was crying. Far away, she cried.

  Then they were all speaking at once.

  "No...no, look, the wound's healed, he's not bleeding."

  Derek was dreaming. Jungles. With the others, laughing together, talking, stopping to pick the fruit from the trees, large yellow fruit. So luscious and sweet. No, here in this horrid place, and their voices...

  Derek's eyes opened before he could will them to do so.

  The firelight. The candle flickering on its shelf. The sound of the wind beyond the window, and perhaps rain in the wind, sweet rain cooling his face. Oh, the miracle of rain after all those years beneath the ground in Budapest. The sweet smell and taste of rain. His left shoulder was warm but the pain had gone. He stared forward hearing their mingled voices.

  "...completely healing."

  Don't touch me. Get away from me.

  "...skin growing back, sealing it up."

  Warmth in his shoulder, warmth in his chest.

  "What's done is done..."

  "You should never..."

  And then they were all singing the same song to him to talk, to tell what he knew, where he came from, to tell the names of the others, to tell what the visions of the city meant. And Amel. What did the name Amel mean to him? And it was like so much noise. He felt sleepy all over and crushed inside and he realized that if he listened very carefully he could hear the sound of the sea beyond this prison, the sound of waves crashing on rocks perhaps or on sand or even on the walls of this citadel. Sleepily he began to visualize the sea. He opened his eyes and stared up at the distant window and he could see rain swirling in the darkness like tiny needles in a whirlwind.

  "All right, let's leave him now. Nothing more can be done tonight. Let's leave him here to reflect on what his obstinacy has cost him. And we will see if you are right."

  Staring at the swirling rain made him feel colder. Listening to the sea made him feel colder. The warmth in his shoulder and chest felt good.

  He turned so that he lay with his left shoulder against the wall, the warmth intensifying to heat again, staring dully at the distant window, wondering if stars would ever become visible there when perhaps the rain stopped and the heavy pregnant clouds were gone. Only slowly did he realize that when the night died, he would see blue sky through that window! He would see actual light! Now that was something to hope for, to cling to, even if the fire were allowed to die, and the room grew as cold as the sea.

  And would that severed arm now live forever just as he, Derek, had lived forever, all these long years since then, since Atalantaya fell into the sea, the cold sea?

  "No." The woman screamed again.

  "Let it burn!" said Rhosh.

  "I will not!" screamed the woman.

  Derek turned his head. Arion reached into the fire and grabbed the severed arm and threw it down on the stones as if it were horrible to him, this severed part of Derek. And it was smoking, the torn sleeve smoking! Overcome with horror, Derek felt himself losing consciousness again.

  Roland came close. "No, not bleeding, it's all sealed. Ah, what an amazing creature you are. But I'm not surprised. I've beaten you before, haven't I, and you've always healed. I broke your arm once, didn't I? Was it your left arm? And it healed, didn't it? I wonder how much of you might be divided away before you lose your capacity to reason. Any gift can be used as its opposite. Immortality can be a terrible thing."

  His face was dark because the fire was behind him. But Derek could just make out the glitter of his eyes, and see his gleaming white teeth as he smiled.

  "I suppose if your chest is divided from your head, you'll die, but perhaps not."

  "Roland," said Arion, "I beg you. Don't torture him. This is all so wrong."

  Allesandra was weeping.

  "Think on it now," said Roland to Derek, "and when we return, have something to offer us in exchange for your right arm, or perhaps for your right eye, or for your right leg."

  Derek closed his eyes. I want to die, he thought. I am finished. It is over. Kapetria lives, but she will never find me. It is too late for me. He was sobbing, but his sobs made no sound, and the tears slid down his face and it didn't matter. He tried to feel his missing left arm and hand as if they were invisibly still connected to him, but they weren't there, and the dull heat throbbed in his left shoulder stronger than before.

  "That's enough, I can't bear anymore!" cried Allesandra. "I say we leave him alone now. We have work to do. Rhosh, you have solicitors, men who can use the information about this Garekyn creature..."

  "...So does the Court!" said Rhosh. "You don't think they're using a battery of human cohorts to track down these missing beings!"

  "And that should stop us from searching for him as well?"

  "Let's go now, Rhosh," Arion pleaded. "I need to hunt. I want to hunt. I've had enough of this. This Garekyn has an address in London. Rhosh, your solicitors are in London. You might find out far more about this Garekyn being than you'll ever get from this poor battered boy."

  And they were going. He could hear them. He lay, knees to one side, wounded shoulder against the wall still, and his right hand on his leg, and he waited for the sound of the door being closed and bolted. But no sound of the door came.

  He turned his head and looked up. Only Rhoshamandes remained in the doorway. And the creature had never looked more calculating and menacing--a mighty angel of Hell with his serene face and soft curling hair. He stepped forward with a quick furtive glance behind him, and then snatched up the arm and once again hurled it into the fire.

  Then he was gone and the door was slammed shut and t
he bolt thrown, and Derek sat frozen in terror.

  The sobs poured out of him like blood.

  He had to get to the fireplace, take his arm from it, he had to, but he could not bear the thought of touching it himself. And he could hear a crackling, a noise as if of logs shifting. Move, Derek. Go, that's your arm burning on the fire!

  The demons were gone. All sound of them gone.

  Move, Derek, before your own flesh and blood burns! But what does it matter? Despair paralyzed him. What good would it do?

  He opened his eyes and attempted to crawl on all fours until the horror of his missing arm struck him full force, and then he sat back on his heels staring forward.

  But his arm had rolled out of the fire. It had rolled out of the fire and onto the stone floor again. It lay on the floor, the torn shirtsleeve blackened and smoking as before.

  No left hand with which to cover his eyes, only his right hand. No left arm to wrap around his middle, only his right arm.

  Demons, some night I will have my revenge. Kapetria is alive. Garekyn is alive. And they will find me. Try keeping your secrets from your wary tribe, your talented tribe of blood drinkers who can read your minds, just try! And they will come to find me here just as Garekyn found you in New York.

  He stretched out on the floor full length, and resting his face on his right hand he cried as if he really were a child. And it seemed he'd never been anything else. Why had the Parents given this innocence to him, this capacity for suffering to him, why had the Parents fashioned him as such a tenderhearted being? And he wondered now, as he had any number of times since that long-ago time, had he and Kapetria and Garekyn and Welf been wrong to disobey the Parents--to put the purpose aside?

  ...to destroy all sentient life, to destroy all life-forms...until the primal chemical innocence is restored and this world may begin its ascent all over again as it would have originally, had not circumstances favored the ascendancy of the mammalian species...

  No voice or sound from anywhere in the castle.