So. People have been wondering about me. Whatever happened to Pinky? What kind of secrets did he have? How'd he end up?
As far as secrets go, I don't have any. Never did. I might have pretended I did a time or two, but that's easy. If you act like you have an ace up your sleeve, people will assume you do.
When you're a vampire, you don't exactly get to ride off into the sunset. It makes for stinging that Bactine won't help, and an extremely poor attitude. But as far as it goes, I did at least end up in a place of peace.
When last seen, I had left Lexington. Janosh had decided to go home to the Ukraine, and still being relatively new to this century, asked if i'd accompany him. The idea of international travel was frankly a daunting one to someone who was still getting used to this modern world. Fortunately, I was used to traveling in a way that most kindred aren't.
So we did some plane-hopping. I called a guy i knew in NYC and got us some traveling documents and then threw some baksheesh at the Kindred who have their hooks into TSA at JFK. Had to do some favor trading. Also stopped in and saw my literary agent. And then we were on the red-eye overseas.
Had to stop in France. Janosh had this bee in his bonnet about making a full report to the Ordo Chapter house that had sent him to the states in the first place. It took some looking, the old chapterhouse had been burned down and had eventually relocated underground in the parisian catacombs. His "full report" took 3 full weeks of non-stop talking in a symposium. The French Ordo seemed largely bemused by it all. None of the kindred that had known about Janosh's original mission were alive or out of torpor. Literally, no one knew who Janosh was, and in addition, while Janosh's French was way better than mine, it was characterized by the kindred in that Chapterhouse as "Somewhat rustic".
At least, I think that's what they were saying. In the end, most of the Kindred that turned up left after about an hour, except for the contingent of Ventrue Architects. Those guys ate it up with a spoon. By the end of 3 weeks, they were treating Janosh like a bona-fide rock star. The old Russian bore it with humility and good grace. But I think he was tiny bit embarrassed. After promises to visit again, we set off across europe.
If Janosh's French was "Rustic". His Russian was turning out to be incredibly archaic. It was like someone who had learned to speak Elizabethan English turning up in London today and trying to get around. Granted, the old man is eideticker and learns fast, but for the first couple of week back in the old country, i had to do a bit of translating for the old man.
Russian Kindred fall into 3 major categories. Political, Aristocratic, and Proles. So, Janosh's return upset the applecart somewhat. He is VERY old. When he wants to, you can feel the power in his blood from across a ballroom. But in his breathing life, he was, to put it mildly, a farmer. He has no patience for political rhetoric, and he's not an aristo. Most of the Aristos are kind of old and used to ordering people like Janosh around. Janosh has even less patience for that. Some Romanov-blooded piece of work said something stupid to Janosh, and he, showing remarkable restraint, picked him up off his feet and threw him across the room and into a Hepplewhite sideboard.
He literally stood and waited for the keeper of Elysium to turn up while the aristo worked himself into a paroxysm of hysterics. (I pegged him for old Ventrue) The Aristo demanded that Janosh be taken for judgement to the Prince. Janosh calmly explained, that the aristo had offered him insult and being hucked across the room was his way of challenging the "young fledge" to a duel. After all, he'd not been seriously harmed. And if he wanted to satisfy his honor, Janosh was more than willing to meet him, and any seconds, friends, allies and blood relations who were willing to cast their lives away, directly outside. "If I had wanted to kill him," he continued, "I'd have done this…" and then he did his trick.
Now, I've SEEN him do it, and i still think it's pretty startling, knowing he can do it, so I can only imagine what THEY thought. I've seen the aftermath of him depopulating crack houses in the sketchier parts of Lexington and it's frankly terrifying. He is able to turn to mist form subliminally fast, and reform even faster. I have Quicken Sight, and it still looks like he's almost teleporting. Also, he's got the longest claws I've ever seen on a Gangrel. The ventrue had only the mildest knick on his cheek, but everyone in the room got the message. His more level headed kin moved in immediately, and with some "lordly words", forced him to pipe the fuck down. For his part, Janosh's apology to the Keeper and the prince was long and properly flowery.
Janosh would introduce me as his "Childe". Which brought me some unwelcome scrutiny, even though I thought it an honor. The old man is a good mentor. In fact, when we made contact with the Russian OD, his name was legend and carried an interesting amount of weight.
The Moscow Chapterhouse is one of most impressive libraries I have ever been in. We made a point to travel there after Janosh had established some territory in the Ukraine and felt he could safely leave for a week. The library had taken over three blocks within walking distance of Dzhershinski Square and was originally a firm that exclusively handled accountancy for the KGB back in the old days. The upstairs was all still regular buildings and seemingly unconnected, but the underground areas extended down at least 4 stories by my count, Built and maintained by Gangrel and Nosferatus. Floor to ceiling with books for 4 stories and 3 whole blocks. Most of them old and crumbling before the rise of the Tsars. The largest collection was the Stalin's Black Library, which was rumored to hold such occult works as would take a belt sander to the sanity of most researchers.
Now how can I resist that sort of challenge?
After 2 weeks it became apparent to me that I was only scratching the surface. Janosh understood. I'd found a thread in some very old works that would have led to something I've been working on in the Great Work. So he bid me stay and look as long as I'd like while he returned to his home.
We'd been traveling together for months. and in about an hour of his leaving, I missed him terribly. It made we want to turn aside from the work. And perhaps the only reason I did not, is that if I chased after the old monster like some frightened child, I'd never earn his respect again…
So I stayed. and I read.
I made diagrams. Talked to the librarians.
I did math that made my head hurt.
I called up spirits using age old and very reliable protocols.
I asked questions. Found fellow travelers on the same road as myself.
I spent 4 months there.
I followed the thread of my research.
See. We have this ability to manipulate the monster within us. It occurred to me at some point that it may be that we can enhance and manipulate that which is in us, that enables us to still be human. I've crudely referred to it as a form of "Weaponized Humanitas" But that's a limited way of putting it. It's more like having Humanity that shareable. Possibly even by force.
It led me to a certain dragon's nest in the heart of the slums of new delhi. To drop acid, and throw myself bodily into the deepest hole in hell, just to see if I could claw my way out.
It led me to Tibet. I spent three weeks there with no blood and no sleep. and when I did taste blood again, it was only a drop, but that drop of blood was as sweet as a promised kiss in the springtime.
It led me to Honshu where I studied with a noted blood alchemist. I lived in the form of a junkyard dog or as an Owl, and became the unofficial protector of our neighborhood against the Akuma that lived there. I still have the sword, which is a true thing of beauty.
All that left me changed.
Golconda? Nah. Golconda is a tiny flyspeck town in Western Kentucky. I went there once as a lark. They have 3 streets and one stop sign. You actually have to leave town to pick up your mail. No. I was looking for a soul-deep change and half measures weren't going to do.
Finally, I went wandering. I found myself heading north and remembered some unfinished business in Iceland.
I was negotiating with the local prince for permission to stay there. It wasn't going well.
The last time I'd been there it had been because one of my ex-wives had tracked me down and demanded some answers and I had to go into hock with some of the local Ventrue to get the situation handled. and as it happened, those kindred weren't exactly friendly with the prince. Lovely.
Fortunately for me, an incursion of Brood swept into Reykjavik in numbers so large that it was truly daunting. See. Iceland is far enough north that there are periods of months at a time when you have no sun. At times, Brood come out of the woodwork. The locals hate it of course.
The unfortunate thing is when kindred attack something in THOSE sorts of numbers, it doesn't really matter what the security arrangements are, they tend to fail and then it's pretty much every man for himself. These guys were fast, tactically savvy, and well armed.
I waded in. Sword and claws. Moving fast, like I can. Taking the occasional hit, in order to gain position and leverage, for a strike of my own, like i've learned. But something was different about this fight. I could feel it in the air, the sharp tang of blood already on the breeze.
I could feel it in their moves. In their eyes. A distinct lack, like a hunger, not for blood, but for something more nourishing. I could feel it in the monster charging me, most keenly, as if he somehow sensed that I had what he sought.
But he didn't have to take it from me. I would give it to him willingly.
We locked eyes.
He ground to a halt.
He dropped his weapon.
He shed one tear, and then another.
He fell to his knees and sobbed. He never took his eyes off me.
The sounds of combat had ceased all around us. The brood had remembered their humanity. and even the kindred on my side were finding it hard to raise a weapon and punish those crying monsters.
My Devotion only works for a single night. Most of the Brood begged us to kill them or leave them for the sun, but we ended up staking them until we could sort out a means to rehabilitate them. It's slow going, but it's still going on tonight. I don't know exactly what I did, but it seemed to have a longer term effect on the Brood.
Of course, NOW, i'm the princes best friend. I don't know if I can even teach this gift to another kindred or whether it's something unique to me, but I'll see what I can do.
I call my Devotion, "Here. Have some of Mine."
Ilse and I live together now. She won't re-marry me, but she's still fond of me, and we still have earth-shatteringly great sex. And, bonus, I speak more Icelandic now, and she speaks more English, and I'm finding I can occasionally bridge the gap with Russian. So we understand one another much better now.
I don't exactly know how I got here. But here is a good place to be. If you're receiving this email, You're one of the people I trust and I don't mind visitors, even if trouble is dogging your heels.
Come see me sometime.
P. Berkowitz.
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