David Wilson - Vampire Book 2 - To Speak With Lifeless Tongues

DAVID NI A L L WILSON

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PART ONE

5

DAVID NIALL WILSON

ONE

Evening dropped slowly over the walls of the

Convent of Our Lady of Bitter Tears. Against the

backdrop of orange sunlight and multi-hued clouds

the structure stood silent, cresting a small rise with

the huge expanse of the Cambrian Mountains rising

up from behind. The last of the sunlight seeped

over the tips of the peaks, slipping down at odd

angles and sending huge, elongated shadows to

grope at the old stone walls, as if trying to pry loose

secrets long buried.

There was no movement in the gardens, and the

bell in the small chapel was silent. The hour of

meditation had arrived and transported the sisters

to communion with their Lord. Each had taken to

her quarters, waiting expectantly. Each expected

TO SPEAK WITH LIFELESS TONGUES

6

that He or His servant might come to them. Each

believed in her heart that it would be her time.

Behind the heavy oak doors of the Mother

Superior’s chambers the silence was broken by

heavy, rasping breaths that wheezed and scratched

their way free of one darkened corner of the room.

The small table that sat before her window, commanding

a view of the valley below, was set for a

meal that had gone untouched. Flies buzzed lazily

about the rotting remains of that meal and the

sickly-sweet stench of rotted meat permeated the air.

As the last of the light leaked from the room a

chair creaked. Old bones crackled as limbs too long

in one position were set in motion. A wracking

cough, brittle and harsh, broke the silence followed

by the grating sound of a flint being struck. The

wick of a tallow candle came to life, wavering softly

in the slight breeze from the window, and a thin,

frightened face came into focus.

Mother Agnes sat with both hands cupped about

the base of the candle, unmindful of the hot wax

dribbling slowly down the sides toward her withered

hands. She stared straight through the window

into the black void beyond, waiting. As did the

sisters who no longer took her counsel, she considered

that He might come, and the thought chilled

her to the center of her brittle, arthritic bones.

There was no warmth in her anticipation. Death

comes to all who wait in His own good time. Agnes

felt that her time must be near. There was no other

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DAVID NIALL WILSON

way to explain away the madness, and her God

wasn’t answering her prayers.

So many days had passed since He’d first come

to them, so many dark and endless nights. Such

beauty. Never, in all the years of her service to her

savior had she felt drawn so completely to a man.

She should have known then—should have felt

that it was wrong. Nothing had mattered when he

turned his eyes upon her. Nothing but pleasing

him—not even her faith. He had taken that faith

and twisted it, returning it only after it was worn

away and useless.

Beyond the window a wolf howled, and a shiver

shot through her weakened frame, nearly dropping

her from her seat to the cold stone of the floor.

What light there had been the night had swallowed

whole. The moon had not yet risen to her throne

of white light, leaving the world cloaked in black.

A cloak of mourning. There was no way to know

what might be out there, and yet Agnes knew. She

felt it in her heart of hearts, the approach of eternity

and the lack of light.

She prayed under her breath, a low, keening

moan of words that were no more comprehensible

to her mind than they would have been to any who

listened. The verses were mismatched and random,

blending and molding themselves to her grasping

attempts at coherent thought. One anchor remained

to her sanity and she clung to it with the

patience of the damned and desperate.

TO SPEAK WITH LIFELESS TONGUES

8

The supply train would arrive soon. There would

be contact with the villages below the mountain,

and Father Joseph would be with them. He would

arrive, God willing, by the light of day, and she

would find some way to make her tongue function

properly. She would gather the strength to go to

him and to tell him of the Hell that had descended

upon her convent. She would make him drive that

evil forth, or they would all perish in the attempt,

but it would happen in less than a day.

A whisper of cloth brushing against stone

sounded beyond her window, and she cowered further

into the shadows, willing her heartbeat to

silence and clamping down on the suddenly raucous

sound of her own breath. She felt the wood of

her chair and the cool stone of the wall behind her,

and she imagined herself a part of them, inanimate

and uninteresting to whatever might be seeking her

out. It was a vain hope. The shadow slipped across

the sill of her window and came to rest, upright and

towering above her, just within her chamber. She

didn’t have the energy left to scream.

The shadow figure stood suddenly at her side.

She couldn’t remember if He’d walked across that

space, glided, or merely appeared at her shoulder,

but He leaned forward and his lips brushed her ears

as He spoke. She tried to pull away. The words of

her prayers became more chaotic and meaningless,

and the strength bled from her frame as she pressed

against the stiff back of her chair, digging her fin-

9

DAVID NIALL WILSON

gernails into the wood until they broke from the

pressure. She stared straight ahead, avoiding the

sight of Him, but His words seeped through the wall

of concentration she’d erected as easily as wind

beneath an ill-fitting door. The taste of anticipation

altered, but she continued her prayer.

“I have waited for this moment,” the Dark One

whispered, breathing the words into her ear and

sending tingles of energy rippling down her arms,

standing the soft hairs on end as it passed. She’d

never been so intimately close to a man, not since

her vows had removed her from the mainstream of

life. She felt the magnetic pull of his flesh and

nearly cried out in shame and desire at once.

“Leave me…” she rasped, surprising herself with

the strength of her words. “Return to whatever

shadow spawned you, leave me—us—in peace.”

“I cannot do that, Agnes,” the shadow continued

smoothly. “You mean so very much to me now. I

have learned from you, but I have shared so little.

It is time for you to learn what I have to offer, as

your little sisters have done. You want that, don’t

you, Agnes?”

She turned her head farther away, aware that the

motion bared her throat, and tossed the graying

locks of her hair aside in the same motion, though

she knew it was not proper. There was no touch,

not of breath or of pain. All that she sensed was His

nearness, and it wore away at her control as he

continued to speak.

TO SPEAK WITH LIFELESS TONGUES

10

“You pray to a savior who has been too long gone

from the earth,” he said. “You waste your life and

your love on one who will see you only after you

have fallen to dust, if ever. You were a beautiful

woman, Agnes…full of life.”

“I serve my Lord,” she whispered desperately. “I

will stand at his side in Glory, and this will be nothing

but a dark moment in time—a nothingness

without meaning.”

“You are wrong,” he said, laying one hand gently

on her shoulder. “You will still be standing when

he comes again, in the flesh that binds you now,

and he will turn away.”

Then the pain came, the bite of something sharp

penetrating her throat, followed by wave upon

wave of pleasure. She shuddered, and her arms

dropped to her sides in sudden release, then returned

to their grips on the chair. She felt the life

draining swiftly from her aged frame, and she felt

the faith of a lifetime being stolen away. It was too

much.

A small flame still burned within her, a light that

she could make out through the murky haze of sensations

that began where the flesh of his hands

gripped her frail shoulders and radiated out in

waves that threatened to consume her humanity.

Blanking her mind, she ceased her struggles and

concentrated on that light.

There were other pressures. He assaulted her

flesh, but he was attempting to violate her mind as

11

DAVID NIALL WILSON

well, her memories. He was seeking something, and

the sudden knowledge that denial of that information

would be the same as a victory gave her the

focus to draw herself slowly toward the flame of her

own being. He might have her blood—she knew

that it was her blood he stole—but he would not

have her soul. He would not drag her into the

nightmare that was his own existence, and he

would not find the answers he sought within her.

As her strength ebbed and the light grew to fill

her mind, she felt a sudden influx of energy. He

would not have her. Flesh was the cage that held

her to the world, but within the light that grew and

pulsed before her she felt the hands of her savior

reaching out to draw her in.

He shifted her in his arms, drawing her up and

out of her chair and tilting her back so that she

faced the ceiling. His dark eyes filled her sight,

threatening for a moment to blot out the light from

within, then fading to a blur of shadow at the

fringes of her consciousness. The world receded,

but something was important about his actions. He

held a wrist above her now, and he reached over

almost casually with his free hand to slice at that

wrist with a fingernail too long to be real, and too

real to be pure. Her mouth opened, and she stared

into the dark pits where his eyes should have been,

but she did not see him.

His intent was clear, and as he raised the weeping

wound above her, blood dripping in a steady

TO SPEAK WITH LIFELESS TONGUES

12

stream down his forearm, she drew on the awesome

strength of the light that called to her so strongly.

She released herself from the world, wrenching

herself from her flesh and soaring free.

From above and far away she saw her body convulse

in the Dark One’s arms. She saw the crimson

flow of blood from the cut of his arm as it dribbled

meaninglessly off over the lips of the shell that had

housed her, but she felt no emotion at the sight. No

disgust. No violation. No victory.

Her body was lost to her, but it was lost to him

as well. She sensed that his words had not been

metaphorical. There was an ageless quality in the

glint of his eyes and a detached loneliness in the

tones of his voice that hinted at knowledge beyond

the scope of human years. There was hunger there

as well, and not all of that hunger was directed at

her blood, though that was a large part of it.

As she drifted away she sensed that he, too,

fought his way through bondage. He sought answers,

but the essence of his being forced other

issues to the forefront of his mind and robbed him

of time and concentration. He fed because he had

to, but there was more that he’d wanted from

Mother Agnes of the Convent of Our Lady of Bitter

Tears. He would get nothing.

Other voices called out to her now, musical and

inviting, and the light had grown so bright that all

else disappeared from her thoughts. She slipped

within that glow, and her essence co-mingled with

13

DAVID NIALL WILSON

the energy of the light. It was a true communion,

a joining, and the voices became her own, or she

became the voices. The chambers and the stone

walls of the convent dropped away until nothing

remained.

The dark figure felt the life slip from his aging

victim’s body, and he cursed. It was not directed at

God, or at himself, but at eternity in general.

Montrovant felt the rivulet of blood making its way

down his flesh and cursed himself for not cramming

the cut between the old one’s lips before she could

escape him. She was gone, and the blood that splattered

and dribbled over her wrinkled, silent face

was nothing but strength and sustenance wasted.

The wound healed quickly, and with a contemptuous

toss he flung the husk that had been Mother

Agnes across the room. Her bones shattered on

impact with the stone of the wall, and her blooddrained

flesh made a wet, smacking noise as it

spread out on impact and fell to the floor, limp and

empty. He hadn’t meant to throw her so violently,

but she’d been his best hope and now he would

have to move on and try again.

Montrovant strode to the window, wiping his

sleeve across his lips to clear away the last of the

Mother Superior’s blood. He’d shared enough of

her thoughts before she escaped him to know that

his time in the convent was at an end. That meant

that he, or le Duc, would have to find an answer—

any answer—this very night.

TO SPEAK WITH LIFELESS TONGUES

14

The supply train would arrive in the morning, or

the next. It didn’t matter. They would arrive soon,

and that was enough. Montrovant knew that he and

le Duc could take precautions that would lead those

arriving off on false trails, away from the truth. They

could make it look as if bandits had raided the convent

for food and shelter, perhaps even for a taste of

the virtue of the good sisters, but eventually there

would be discoveries, information that didn’t fit the

motives or patterns of mountain bandits.

They would notice the wounds on the women’s

necks. They would notice the broken, blooddrained

carcass of the Mother Superior and wonder

what kind of man could perpetuate such violence

with such disregard to their Lord. They would put

the facts together, and they would know what to

look for. He and le Duc had to be gone before the

dawn, and they had to find a place that none would

think to look for them, or it might be the last night

of their existence.

He stared out into the darkness. He had vague

ideas where the Brotherhood might have gone,

where Kli Kodesh might have sent them, but it

seemed a step beyond him to draw even with his

prey. They always seemed a few miles ahead; or else

they slipped away as he followed a false lead into

one form of trouble or another. Montrovant had

not been patient in life, and the virtue had not

forced itself upon him as his mind matured and his

body ignored time. Now this. Another delay.

15

DAVID NIALL WILSON

He had purposely kept them as far from the cities

as possible. The clans were beginning to grow

in strength, and any hint of interference from outside

forces drew unwanted attention. Montrovant

had no patience for games of politics that involved

the power of others. He had his own concerns.

He burned to find the treasure he sought…the

Grail…to bring it back to his sire, to drink from

that most powerful of cups and feel the power beyond

anything he or any other had

experienced…to rule. Surely one who drank the

blood from such a cup would rule the world, and as

long as he walked the earth, Montrovant would see

to it that no other took that position. Perhaps even

Eugenio would get a bit of a surprise, once the Grail

was his.

He was tempted to go for le Duc that instant and

leave the convent behind. They’d been lazy, staying

too long and enjoying the solitude and the

attention of the sisters, who’d come to view them

as visiting angels or gods in human flesh. Only the

Mother Superior had eluded Montrovant’s control.

It had been many years since he’d encountered

such complete, unwavering faith in another. His

faith was strong, but it was in darker gods and his

unnatural instincts. Those instincts told him that

it was time to change tactics.

He reached out with his mind and felt the subtle

presence that was le Duc. It had been several years

now since he’d Embraced the Frenchman, and

TO SPEAK WITH LIFELESS TONGUES

16

though he missed having a living, breathing servant

to care for his needs during the daylight hours,

it was good to have a companion. Since beginning

his quest, he’d been voluntarily cut off from

Claudius and the rest of his clan. There had been

communications, of course, reports back and forth,

but he’d not seen any of the others since he’d left

for Jerusalem decades prior. It seemed a lifetime,

and even for one whose years had spanned several

mortal lifetimes, it was a lonely burden.

Jeanne was feeding. For just an instant

Montrovant maintained the link, savoring the

beauty of the sensation—the joining. He knew

Jeanne would pull free before the sister was gone

completely, leaving her weak and trembling on her

bed to wake with visions she’d never truly escape.

Le Duc was more dramatic with the humans than

Montrovant. Briefly, the elder Cainite wondered if

he was becoming too jaded. There had been a time

when he’d enjoyed the hunt and the kill as much

as le Duc did now, but that was fading. His obsession

was costing him his sanity.

He swept his arm across the table where the rancid

meal still sat, untouched. The plates and

garbage crashed to the floor, rotted meat and untouched

wine splashed against the stone. Moving

swiftly, he systematically ransacked the room. He

removed a few valuables, a silver crucifix and several

pieces of jewelry that spoke of an earlier time

in Agnes’s life. They were dainty, the sort of trin-

17

DAVID NIALL WILSON

kets that a doting father might bestow upon his

daughter.

Brief memories stolen from her as her lifeblood

drained into him flitted through Montrovant’s

mind. An Agnes none of the sisters would recognize,

dressed up for a party—waiting on the steps

of a keep for her father’s return from war. He caught

glimpses of her mother, brothers who’d watched

over her. An old woman who’d read to her and

taught her to be a lady. None of it mattered now.

The father had lost a daughter, the old woman a

pupil.

Now that daughter lay in a heap of ruined flesh,

her life dedicated to pursuits that long-lost father

would never have fully understood. Dedication

such as hers was not a common human trait.

Montrovant tucked the jewelry into a pouch on his

belt and continued his destruction of the room.

Somehow, he didn’t want to leave anything of

Agnes behind. She’d made her escape.

When the room was a shambles, he turned away,

putting Mother Agnes and her life behind him. He

strode purposefully into the hall and made his way

toward the next floor of the convent, where the

sisters’ quarters lined two walls. The cells were

small and severe, a single bunk for rest and a small

table where each of the sisters could keep her personal

effects. None was more elaborate than any

other, and yet he knew from the experience of the

past weeks that each had its own sensation. The

TO SPEAK WITH LIFELESS TONGUES

18

flavor of the woman, her blood, her thoughts and

her passions, seeped into the walls of cold stone.

Her name was Maria, a small pale woman, like a

slender ghost with ringlets of blonde hair cascading

over her shoulders. Her quarters had a delicate,

frightened feel to them. Her thoughts were furtive,

always seeking approval and fearing retribution.

He’d spent one long evening just holding her, not

feeding, not taking advantage, but pressing her

trembling form tightly against his breast and letting

the triphammer of her heartbeat flutter against

him. She was possibly the most vulnerable human

he’d ever encountered, and in her faith she sought

an answer to that vulnerability, a protection that

a cold, severe God would never grant her.

There were others, and Montrovant wished his

time with them were not through. There was something

new to be learned in each experience, and

he’d built his strength considerably since he and le

Duc had first appeared before the sisters.

An image of Eugenio rose unbidden to the forefront

of his mind. For perhaps the first time since

his sire had closeted himself away in a convent near

Rome, he was beginning to understand the motivation

behind that seclusion. The privacy and the

security were temptations hard to resist in a world

where one of his kind had to be constantly on their

guard.

The last time Montrovant had visited Claudius,

he’d left his sire standing on the ramparts of that

19

DAVID NIALL WILSON

monastery, staring off into the darkness.

Montrovant had been in such a hurry to get away,

to make a mark in the greater scheme of things and

bring power and glory to their clan. It hardly

seemed as if that clan still existed within the scope

of his world. All his thoughts centered on the

Brotherhood he sought, and the treasure they

guarded…his treasure, the Grail. There had to be

an end to it, and soon.

He turned a corner and le Duc was there, pulling

one of the doors closed behind himself softly.

He turned, smiling, and Montrovant found himself

caught up in that smile.

“We must leave,” he said quickly, not wanting to

waste time.

Jeanne only nodded in answer. They’d been on

the road together for so long that most thoughts

seemed shared. Montrovant turned away, and le

Duc followed as the tall, gaunt vampire led the way

toward the front of the building. There was only

one entrance to the convent, and it was there that

Montrovant was heading. The two had not slept

their days within those walls, and it would take a

bit of time to gather their possessions for a long ride

from the mountains where they’d kept them

stashed.

“I’ll go to the stables,” Jeanne offered.

“I will be waiting,” Montrovant answered. They

moved through the huge wooden doors into the

night, and Montrovant left those doors open wide.

TO SPEAK WITH LIFELESS TONGUES

20

The remaining sisters would recover eventually,

and if they were lucky their supply train would arrive

in time to nurse them back to health and to

soothe their loss. Montrovant doubted that any of

them would ever fully release his image, and the

thought amused him. It was good to have left a

mark on the world, however fleeting.

“Sleep well,” he called over his shoulder. “Sleep

well my ladies, and farewell.”

Then he leaped into the air in one fluid motion

and shifted to a smaller blur of darkness, spreading

his arms as they collapsed into deeper darkness, a

shadow, slipping among the shades. The night wind

bore him upward toward the open face of the

mountain, and his spirit soared. It was time to move

on, and perhaps, with luck, their next stop would

be the one.

21

DAVID NIALL WILSON

TWO

Le Duc was making his way out of the stables

leading two of the finest mounts the sisters had to

offer when a soft, feminine voice drifted through

the shadows to him.

“You are…leaving?” The voice was familiar, but

it had a plaintive, whining tone to it that kept him

from putting a face to it immediately. “Just as the

other. You will go and never return.”

Sister Madeline. He knew her now, and he

shifted his gaze to the left, picking her form from

the darker shadows. She stood watching him, her

hands clasped before her and her eyes open so wide

that it seemed he could see to the very depths of

her soul.

TO SPEAK WITH LIFELESS TONGUES

22

“Other?” he asked, moving closer and stopping

to stand only a few feet from the trembling girl.

“Yes,” she said, breathing heavily. Her expression

was the vacant, empty stare of one bereft of all

hope. She did not seem concentrated on what she

was saying, but instead let her words ramble wherever

her thoughts carried her. Fascinated, le Duc

did not interrupt.

“He came as you have come, in the hours of darkness.

So beautiful. Sister Sarah said that he must

be an angel, but to tell him so only made him laugh.

His name was Owain. Will you follow him?”

“Owain?” Le Duc rolled the name about in his

mind. Something was familiar about it, but he

couldn’t place it exactly.

“Owain,” Madeline agreed. “You are not so tall

as he,” she continued, moving closer, “but you are

more beautiful.” She’d slid into his arms, drawn by

some image created in her own mind…not truly

seeing le Duc at all. Trembling with shame, she

pressed her flesh wantonly against his and craned

her neck as if to allow him easier access.

“I know what you want,” she continued, trembling.

“It was the same when he came to me. I will

give it to you freely, if you will not leave me. I want

to go with you.”

He could see the battle waging beyond her eyes

…could sense the tension. Years of piety and faith

warring with stolen moments of darkness… dreams

of adventures and other places and wilder hearts.

23

DAVID NIALL WILSON

“That is not possible, love,” le Duc said, pulling

back slightly so he could meet her gaze. “Where we

go, none may follow.”

She would have protested further, but he leaned

in then, clamping onto the softness of her throat

and letting her warm blood spill over his lips. She

had offered, and he would accept, despite the fact

that he had no intention of agreeing to her terms.

He would need strength for the time to come, and

the scent of her so near had wakened the hunger.

He wasted no time, draining her as quickly and

completely as he dared, then carried her inert form

gently to where a mound of hay lay in one corner

and set her down atop it. She would remember

little, another angel come and gone in the night.

It wouldn’t be until she saw Mother Agnes, or until

the supply train arrived, that she would begin to

realize the truth of what had become of her. Even

then, Jeanne thought, she would remember him

fondly. It was the way of his curse.

As he moved into the night with the horses in

tow, he continued to wonder over this Owain. Odd

that none of the sisters had mentioned him before

now, especially to Montrovant, whose powers of

persuasion caused Jeanne’s own to pale to nothingness.

He wondered if Owain could have anything

to do with their search, or if it were just coincidence

that another passing Cainite had made use

of the readily available supply of blood in the convent.

He had to hope that Montrovant would

TO SPEAK WITH LIFELESS TONGUES

24

recognize the name as well, and that it would mean

more to him than it did to le Duc himself.

He wound his way quickly up the mountainside

toward the caves they’d shared these last weeks,

David Wilson - Vampire Book 2 - To Speak With Lifeless Tongues

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