"Starting from the door,
the road runs ever forward
. Far away, its thread unraveled,
so now is the time for you."
JRR Tolkien
Our house stood on the sidelines. Around us grew great, spiky trees, and through their rickety crowns, mountain gullies peeked through—the mountains towered high above our heads.
What I remember best was the dampness—wet rocks, wet trees, and a perpetually gray sky, fueled by moisture.
Grayness was everywhere—peeping from between seemingly green leaves, weaving its webs between mountains and sky; grayness and dampness.
Our house stood on a rocky ledge—one end of which ended in a chasm, the other flowed gently around the mountain until it became a mountain meadow, lurking in the shadow of the peaks. It fit the landscape: its walls were half-crumbled and its roof was dark gray and sharply pitched. It was nestled against a rock face; trees grew in the yard, forming a rustling vault. Sometimes, when the sun peeked through the gray clouds, the canopy was filled with their light; I rejoiced then.
We had a vast view from our cottage—a vast field, a vast sky, and a distant, misty horizon—I loved gazing at that image, watching it shed its mist in the morning and cloak itself in darkness in the evening.
Back then, when I was very little, I didn't care about the emptiness around our house. I saw no one except my father, mother, and younger sister. It didn't surprise me that my mother wouldn't let us out after dark; I accepted it like a child—I'd grumble for a while, then find something else to do. My days passed carefree.
When did I see the first person outside my family? I remember—you don't forget such things.
To be clear, "person" isn't the right word.
-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-
They had never seen such a strange city. They climbed to it laboriously, battling wind and discouragement, and when they arrived…
A gorge greeted them. Damp, cool rock, covered in moss and cut by miniature, silvery streams, rose above them on both sides, the sky hung in a dark, gray stripe, the dwarf pine growing on the slope occasionally appearing at the edge of the rocks and the sky, and then…
It seemed to them that they had lost their way – Ries bit his lip, Ratter swore, and the wind carried his voice.
As soon as they emerged from the gorge, crowned by rocky steps, they found themselves on a huge ledge. On one side, towering rocks belonging to a mountain range loomed somewhere in the darkness; on the other, smaller rocks swirled. Silence and a gust of wind, with the gray horizon peeking out from behind the rubble.
Yes, they had lost their way. Once again, they hadn't found the City.
The last stars were already fading; the world lay immersed in the pre-morning gray, and a white, increasingly distinct spot in the flock of clouds heralded the sun.
Ries and Ratter's spirits were sinking. They were alone here, amidst the hostile rocks and open spaces, which filled them with unease. This was not their world. They stood motionless at the mouth of the gorge and waited. Ries's cold gaze pierced the earth, the wind ruffled his hair, and the sharp lines of his face sharpened even more. He was dissatisfied, wondering what had caused his mistake.
He didn't like to be wrong, and besides, it was unbecoming for creatures like him. Especially now, with such an important task, he thought, his face paling.
Ries of Awerpi was a strange man. Haughty, cold, taciturn, he seemed a visitor from another, alien world. He was slim, sickly-looking, with his sallow complexion—a typical weakling in appearance, but a tremendous strength of spirit shone through him.
A degenerate, iron-clad intellectual, rejecting every imperfection.
Ratter Effort looked around. He admired the immensity of the mountains, watched the slow movement of the clouds, absorbed the morning atmosphere. He was different from Averpii – he had large, green eyes, a serene gaze, and curly hair; well-built and always with a slight smile, he inspired confidence in people. He was often invited to join their company – Averpii was too much feared, while Ratter seemed a pleasant young man. One among many, knowing and understanding the lives of many.
So Averpii stood and cursed himself; Effort stood and, despite his failure, felt the joy of the journey when one of the rocks glowed with rows of lights.
And then more rocks lit up, until the two travelers understood the phenomenon of the city they were searching for.
This is the Forged City…
.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.
The woman visited us in the evening. My mother was holding my sister, my father was rearranging logs in the hearth, and I was turning over blocks when a face gleamed in the darkness of the window.
A human face! The face of a stranger.
The atmosphere was shattered: my father abandoned the logs, I abandoned the blocks; my sister refused to sleep, and my mother began to worry.
She paled when the woman entered.
Not that anyone had opened the door; she had simply entered our house. This didn't surprise me: how was I supposed to know how guests should behave when we'd never had any?
The woman was almost exactly like my mother, I was surprised then, like a small child; only her clothes were different: a black dress, her hair loose rather than pinned up, and…
Her eyes were strange, burning and glowing.
I couldn't understand much of the scene.
The woman stood in the doorway. My father was opposite her, I was on his other side, against the opposite wall, and my mother and sister were in the middle of us – scattered all over the room.
For a while, the guest surveyed everything with that terrifying, fiery gaze – Father was calm, Mother was growing paler, Sister's eyes were glued to the blocks.
"And yet?" Mother asked.
"And yet," the woman approached her. For a moment, they measured each other's gazes – my warm and friendly Mother with that dark lady. What a contrast…
"You're the last," she said. "Hand."
Mother looked at Father. That's how I remembered her, petite, in the aura of the fireplace, with her half-asleep sister at her breast. My mother, my beloved mother.
"A dagger," Mother replied, waking Sister with a gentle wave of her hand and setting her down; the child ran to me, and I instinctively embraced her. Mother glanced at us over her shoulder, then cast a long look at Father.
Something silver glinted near her neck, and Mother fell.
This disturbed my train of thought a little; I was no longer worried about the blocks. I felt increasingly uneasy, understanding less and less, and increasingly afraid.
The woman approached my father and, unceremoniously, almost on the spot, bit him on the neck.
Something crunched.
"Eniel, he's biting," the little girl murmured, delighted, but I didn't share her enthusiasm. Who is this person who bites necks, and why is he doing it? And why isn't Mom moving, something inside me howled. A moment later, the woman stood before me—her eyes peered into mine. Her
eyes were terrifying. Endlessly black, dimmed by the purple reflections that usually flit across the surface of water bubbles, rimmed with blood red. Something evil radiated from them…
And then something cold cut my neck…
.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.
The lights turned out to be windows, and the rocks were houses.
In such a house, in a tenement building, Ries and Ratter now sat. The day was drawing to a close, and they had already explored all of Wykute, perused all its shelves, and talked to the tall, black-haired people—yes, they had come to the right place, this was what they were looking for.
The people here were wild and withdrawn, Awerpii concluded, observing figures in thick khaki robes, bearded men, and well-built women. There were many children here, but they didn't resemble the boisterous children of other cities – those in Wykuty were quiet, moving slowly against the backdrop of the rocks, without shouts, laughter, or chases; the saying "children and fish have no voice" fit them terrifyingly. The city streets were unlike other city avenues, with their bustle, noise, the rattle of carts, the shrieks of vendors and traveling jugglers – silence reigned among the stone houses and courtyards emerging from the stone, only people meandered slowly or marched quickly, not looking around. A hard, gloomy, simple people, Awerpii thought, and he knew he was right. Not him.
They were given a strange room, though that was probably standard here – carved entirely into the rock, it was oval in shape, with uneven, rough, and scratched walls and cobwebs in the rock crevices; it looked more like a cave, and the small light couldn't overcome the darkness creeping in from everywhere. It smelled of rot and decay, an unhealthy, stale air.
This didn't bother the travelers, however. Awerpii sat thoughtfully by the window, Ratter lay in a recess in the wall that served as a bed. They were silent ; they only glanced at each other occasionally, as if asking something crucial. .-
... One day, however, a vampire wandered into the area. I don't know why, maybe some bet with his friends, or a curse, but he decided to transform our entire village into creatures like himself. Create a whole village of vampires. He bit one, and the chain was on. We were the last – our neighbors were waiting for us, but the remnants of humanity held them back. Those remnants were weak. I didn't like it from the start – I couldn't develop a taste for biting people's necks; it didn't bring me joy or excitement; quite the opposite: I felt like a mindless animal, and therefore utterly despicable. So I broke up with him. Simply put. I left the other vampires, that was it. Nothing tied me to them; my father had long since left the village, seeking fresh blood, my sister had developed a taste for crafts, and I didn't care about the rest of my vampire brothers. I retreated high into the mountains. There, in solitude, I struggled with bloodlust. It took a long time. Lust doesn't come from the world, but from higher forces of evil, and once they grab hold of something, they don't let go for a long time. I challenged no mean feat—the fight devastated me, nearly exhausted me, and drove me almost to madness, but I persevered. I'm an ordinary man.
Well, almost – I have eyes with purple reflections in the irises.
Because that's the only way you'll recognize a vampire; shadows, teeth, garlic, it's all a lie. But if someone flashes a purple eye at you, be afraid.
And if that eye is rimmed with red, you're dead.
What do I do next?
The city.
When I was descending from the mountains, barely alive, I quite by accident ended up in Wykuty.
I stayed.
I loved it.
I loved the fog-shrouded slopes that stretch far away, to distant lands.
I loved the starry sky above the rocks glowing with the light of their dwellings.
I loved the grumpy people and the small pine trees that sprouted here and there.
I loved that suspension between sky and earth, the real and the unreal, the fields and the stars.
They knew me here… it was hard not to! I stood out: I wore black, my hair was shoulder-length, though straight, and I had those strange, fire-fueled eyes. But they accepted me.
And I had no urge to bite people on the neck, which I noted with a certain emotion.
I wandered somewhere on the outskirts, on the rooftops, if we can even speak in those terms; most often, I climbed onto the outer part of the rocky mass, beyond which there was only a drop into the abyss, and gazed at the distant fields, the distant horizon. I saw the dawn embrace it, saw the field saturated with light, saw the blood of sunset and the stars above me. I felt the distance, felt the depth and the wind in my hair that came rushing towards me from there. I fell in love with space; I could stare into its face for hours, admire and idolize every detail, shade, and shape. It fascinated me with its vastness and vastness, in comparison to which everything vanished, everything became an insignificant addition.
That's why I wanted to see the sea more than anything in the world. The sea at sunset, the sea under the stars, the sea in the glow of day… I needed nothing else, I just wanted the sea.
Such a crazy vampire.
.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.
Morning slowly rose over the Forged City. The sky was shrouded in billowing, storm clouds – the jagged mountain peaks dripped with night rain, and the smell of damp hung in the bitingly cool air. The stone houses seemed deserted – the streets still held the emptiness of night.
Coincidence.
From the immensity of the rock, which crouched against the upper massif, two men emerged from a dark crevice. One stepped into a puddle and swore; the other laughed softly.
On the second ledge, where the world's most distinguished figures lived, and the rocks, beyond their grayness, sometimes gleamed with the whiteness of marble, the morning silence was disturbed by the sound of footsteps.
A woman.
She was in a hurry. Perhaps she was fleeing.
The two men slowly walked through the rocky alleys, looking around. They entered the crevices between the boulders, into the shadowy vestibules and courtyards of stone buildings, where the sky was a small rectangle overhead. They were exploring the city from within.
The woman glanced nervously at the sky; clouds were playing with the wind, heralding new downpours.
The two men, through the hidden corridors of the courtyards, reached the second ledge.
The woman turned to them.
The nighttime emptiness had been broken.
They stood far apart.
They couldn't see each other clearly—she was already descending the second ledge, standing on the rock steps, while they emerged near the drop-off that terminated the third. At first, they seemed to each other like
ghosts from a sleeping city. Only then did they understand who they were to each other: hunters and prey. .- ... Below me yawned a chasm, the mountain range descended almost vertically at this point, and in the distance, fields turned gray; such a damp, rumpled world. I soaked all night. The rain raged, lashing, slashing, then pouring lazily down again; I exposed myself to the lashes of icy whips, gazed out at the drenched immensity, and felt good. Black clouds growled, twisted like monstrous puppies, the blue distance grew increasingly gray with streaks of rain, rocks hung overhead, and I was soaked. I longed for my dream sea. I knew I would never reach it. Sad. The reason? A trivial one. I didn't know the way. City folk don't care about such things; their mountains are enough for them. And vampires aren't omniscient. I was sitting on a narrow ledge – where I'd settled, it was wide enough to sit with my legs dangling into the abyss, but a few steps away, it even formed a substantial promontory. It's silent, only the clouds murmur wildly and the wind howls. My wet clothes cling to me, water drips down my head, through my hair, nose, and wind-swept cheeks, stimulating every cell in my body. I feel alive, nature has shown its power over me in the wind and rain that tore at me all night and accepted me into its ranks; now I was one of the storm creatures, a part of this madness of nature. And then… Well, it happens – not everyone has a sense of tact, not everyone knows when to step in. For then a woman jumps down onto the promontory. She looks around carefully, sways a little under the pressure of the wind and the sense of height; suddenly she sees me. And I see her. Not special. Her hair is unkempt, her face is worn, her eyes are narrowed, and she's wearing a tattered dress. I gaze longingly at the distant fields and curse these people to the core.
The woman is about to speak to me when two men jump down.
One has the face of a cold scoundrel, the other that of a country bumpkin. The wind ruffles their coats; they glance around quickly, and before their eyes land on me and they include me in their story, I escape.
How?
Yes, simply, into the abyss.
I dive. The abyss beneath me, where beneath the mists—I hope—there's grass.
A quick kick, a lash of wind, a twitch of muscles, such an obvious and natural movement, such a leap…
No.
I cling to a rocky cleft, dangling.
Curiosity? More like a premonition. Something tells me to stay.
So I hang, my fingers clinging to the rock; I won't last long, but I can try.
The wind whips me steadily, I sway with its breath. I drop my head onto my back, feel the wet hair on my skin, see the sky upside down.
Dawn is coming.
"We have you," one of them says, bringing me back to reality. What an effort…
"Kick you?" the girl retorts. What an effort…
"Ratter, she's threatening me," the other laughs. Well, now he's flashing.
And I'm about to let go of my fingers, to relieve them of the burden of my own person, when…
"Bite?!" – a quick thought: either desperate or a vampire.
I'm generally not a curious person. I'm not interested in the affairs of brothers, let alone vampire brothers. I've said what I think about it; my path is different. But a situation where two, judging by their statements, semi-intelligent people threaten a vampire can intrigue even me.
My thoughts are now running on two tracks: first, I can hear those three, second…
A huge, gray mountain looms over me. And I look into the eyes of that mountain.
A hiss, a snort.
And yet, the vampire, I think, is preparing to attack.
A squeal. Full of pain and hurt.
What did they do to her?
Either she's faking it and is just mad or something, which I wouldn't rule out, or they're superhumans. Ordinary mortals can't treat a vampire like that, and few vampires would agree to such treatment. So what's the deal?
"Will you bite?
" "I will. "
A squeal.
"I don't advise it. What do they call you?
A spit.
A squeal.
What's going on up there?
The mountain hangs large and majestic, unconcerned by the battles within.
"Name.
" "Mala"—a weak, pained voice.
Mala… I've heard that name.
"Nice. You'll come with us."
An extraordinary scene. It might as well not exist, a dance in the dreamy fog. I could unwind now, glide down, fall, recover, get up, and go on with my life, having erased those three from my memory.
I'd like to, very much so, but…
A small snag.
Mala is my sister's name.
The narrowed eyes are my sister's.
Up there, two half-intelligent people are doing something to my sister.
But I don't care! I left, I left it, she stayed, she even laughed at me with her friends. They don't want to know me anymore, and I don't want to know them. Besides... what's left of Mala? A wasted, wasted creature, whose essence has been overshadowed by lust. She's no longer my sister, I wouldn't even recognize her if it weren't for her name—only that name made me realize who I'd just seen, allowed me to find my sister's features in the tattered young lady.
Mala... I think of the little girl from our cottage, Mala and Eniel. Curious about the world, such a little laugher. We used to play together, climb trees; I remember the sunlight in her golden curls.
And now? Lice instead of light?
Okay, I'm getting sentimental. But the longer I hang here with the image of the girl before my eyes, the more of my sister emerges from beneath the rags.
This is Mala.
It's been a long time since I've remembered my family home. It somehow stayed that way – there was my fight, my separation, my sister in the company, and my dad with his vampire brothers, there was the field, the rocks, and the sea. Essentially, my childhood began for me with the vampire's visit – I often returned to that, sometimes repeating to myself: who would have thought it would end like this? That Mom would die, Dad would become the terror of some forest, and I would become some undefined something. That nothing would come of the plans mine and Malia made in the evenings on my parents' lap. And that was it, that was all about my childhood.
And those moments of his when neither of us was a vampire? Those evenings, days, and nights, those laughter, songs, voices – the whole beautiful, old world. He lives only in me now; I became his sole owner and guardian.
Exactly. And I'd forgotten him completely. And only now…
I look at the dawn and remember how the first rays of dawn woke me from my sleep. The ghosts of those years are returning, and Mala is one of them. It's a part of that world, which now lives only in me.
And I am responsible for this world.
When I forget, the mornings and evenings will disappear, the memories will die – they will no longer be special or unique to anyone, and in those memories a part of me will die.
It's sad.
Okay, I won't loosen my fingers. I'll go in and snatch it from my sister's tormentors, whoever they are.
The tormentors of my memories.
The tormentors of my world.
Watch out, I'm coming.
Aha. That was to be expected.
The promontory is empty.
.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-
Stars. Millions of stars, farther, closer.
The trees surround the clearing, giving the illusion of safety, though something is constantly stirring, turning, and rustling in the foliage. A fire dances beneath the dark canopy. It drives away the night – a battle between two elements: who is stronger: tiny sparks or darkness? The fire never stops: it rises, falls, swirls, weakens, only to burst into a bright blaze a moment later, constantly in feverish motion, doubling and doubling.
And the darkness stands and watches.
People don't see this struggle. A wagon stands in the shadows, a horse leans over the grass, and two silhouettes flit silently, blending into the silence of the night.
A substantial bundle lies by the fire.
One silhouette stops and points at the moon, the other nods in agreement.
Then they lift the bundle onto the wagon.
.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.
The entire journey, I couldn't help but wonder. Me – saving Mala? Me doing something, me saving Mala? It was strange – something inside me clicked, ignited, and I couldn't avoid it, some kind of eagerness to act, a hint of youth, a hint of memories.
I constantly felt like I was saving that little girl.
But from what? What were they trying to do to her?
I didn't know, but I set off anyway, even though I'm usually very skeptical of such endeavors.
I thought everything was over. That I'd sit on my rock and commune with nature for the rest of my life. And I liked that, that's what I wanted.
Generally.
I appreciated my vampire nature – I could easily detect their path by Mala's scent: the distinctive scent by which any vampire would recognize a fellow vampire.
Their path was strange – they crossed the city, emerged from the city through the mouth of the third ledge, and went to the mountain meadows in the valley; Mists rose around me as I descended the slippery blades of grass, but the scent of Mali lingered.
These blades were peculiar—not saturated with gray, but green, a lush, fresh, eye-popping green.
I descended a little intimidated—the mountains towered high above me. I walked slowly, trusting my sense of smell—the scent of Mali wouldn't dissipate so quickly. I gazed at the soaring crags and... Why? My rock and my sea were far away, and Mala had transformed from a child into a monster. So why am I walking?
And then I reached a grove—an ordinary one, a few trees...
Two tracks—ash and a scent.
A stop. .
-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-
. Morning greeted me by the stream. A diamond-like stream of water flowed joyfully from the mossy rocks, emerged from behind the green trees growing above, and plunged from the heights to continue its course on the flat stones that formed the bottom. Above the stream rose the walls of a great gorge, at the top of which grew a shaggy forest.
The sky was clear and cloudless – the sun's rays were already gliding overhead, but the gorge was cold and shaded.
A woman lay limp in the water – the stream washed over her body, soaked her reddish hair, and reached uselessly for her mouth; two men sat on a rock nearby. They were silent, occasionally glancing at each other. Their journey
wasn't over yet – soon they stood up , the stronger man slung the woman over his shoulder, and they set off again . They threw the wagon into the abyss. .- ... I waded into the stream and lay down on the gleaming stones—the water wasn't deep, it crept briskly along the surface; the swift current lashed my body. I felt a bit like I was in the rain—but then it had been gray and gloomy, and now the world unfolded before me in its most beautiful colors. The water flowed through me, trying to move me, tugging at my hair, my arms, tickling my feet. Its harmonic movements made me increasingly drowsy, I was shutting myself off from the world more and more, when… I suddenly heard music. Soft, sad sounds. The music pierced me, as if it flowed from my most secret recesses, from my earliest years, such a simple yet powerful melody. For a moment, I felt suspended between time and space, torn from the here and now—there was only music, sunlight, and water. And then my thoughts. .-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.- .-.-. -.- "Woman, arise," Ries said. The woman lying limp on the rock rose and looked at him vacantly. Low below them, they had left the world – far below, the massif descended, while they, at its very peak, gazed into the eyes of the stars. And further , and further. .- ... He held a lyre in his delicate hands, resting it on his knee – a black blur in the bright daylight, gloomy and unsettling. Okay, I was expecting a water nymph, but this one looks like a brother to me – a vampire. It gets in everywhere… "Who are you?" I asked, wiping the trickles of water from my forehead. "Me?" he asked carelessly, glancing at me from under his red head. "Streammaster. Don't ask any more questions. Go, keep going."
There was some authority in his voice…
I stood up and set off
. “To the top, to the end,” he shouted after me.
.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.- .-.-.-.-.-.-.
It was an arduous climb. Grain by grain, mote by mote , but they went. They had to. They were drawn slavishly up the hill – the same force that had called Ries and Ratter was now taking them to
itself, they were returning home. The woman was finding her home. Grain by grain, mote by mote. .- ... And what's the point of all this, you stupid vampire, I told myself then, but I could have rambled on as long as I wanted. I had to get there. Because the Streamer had said so. Who was the Streamer? And who knows – I had to get there. To save my own world. And I did. To the very top. The whole world lay beneath me – teeth of crags and precipices, bright meadows and wide-spreading fields, all the way to the horizon, which was finally turning a full circle. Music. The wind lashed the barren, soaring peak, battering me, trying to throw me back to where I came from; through its mournful wail, I heard the strains of a lyre. The melody of space, the melody of the wide world, emanating from both distance and depth. The melody of the horizon, of those lands where I would never set foot, places unsullied by my presence and hidden from my eyes. The melody of the world – the voices, the gleams of the earth, which unfolded freely on the border between rock and the endless blue sky. The streamman sat behind me. "Up, Eniel," he said. "Up, up. " "Bah," I muttered. Only now did I notice that it was already evening, that the stars had risen, and that I had spent the entire day wandering. How can I go up when there are only stars above? At that moment, small, golden particles began to rise against the luminous sky. They arose from the slopes flowing down, forming a gently curved path, a whole path of tiny sparks. "Up, Eniel. You stupid lowland vulture, that beast won't recognize you anyway. But I've come too far. I wouldn't find a place on the rock anyway. I wouldn't sit there not knowing where that path leads. So much uncertainty. I myself am one big ambiguity to myself. One thing is clear – Mala is somewhere out there. Mala and my world. .-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.- High above the world, beneath the sky and stars, they met. They sat in a circle and gazed patiently into the distance. They waited for Ries and Ratter to arrive. Around them was empty and bleak – the flat world and the three of them. Only the copper cage broke the monotony of the landscape.
Bars against the horizon.
.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.
-.-.-.-.-.-. How did I get there? I don't remember. A gap like that—the last image is a ribbon unfurling against the sky. Stupid vampire , I repeated to myself,
getting the increasingly strong impression that I was slowly falling asleep. And there it ended.
Then…
Stupid vampire, I thought to myself, where were you? The sky above me. Millions of stars, a chill radiating from space; I feel like a tiny speck, not to mention trash. Such a stupid vampire. I looked down—the black earth stretched from my feet to the white, distinct horizon. In front of me were three old men in a circle; behind them, two from the promontory stood like limp puppets, their gaze fixed on the three. They were subject to them, from them they drew the power that threatened Mali. I know something now, it's nice. Mala... In the center of the circle stands a cage, and in it... Yes, it's her! My journey had some meaning. She sits in this cage, her hair tousled, her wide eyes looking around. She purses her thin lips, wrinkles her nose, seems alert, tense. Disoriented. Okay, me too. I've traveled a long way – from my rock to... Exactly. Where? And then a melody. Music of the stars, music of the desert, smooth sounds piercing the ear, but these sounds are devoid of feeling, dead and unfriendly like the Streamer's eye, full of majesty instead, with a hint of my bewilderment and Mala's animal tension – our impressions cast into the superhuman form of melody. This music transcends man, it is the music of crystalline Power and Might. The Streamer put down his lyre. He sat against the stars, empty, somber, majestic like his music. "Call her by name," he said. – by name. It was a strange place. Devoid of hills – the flat land ran parallel to the white line of the horizon, no trees, no clouds, only two blacks: the black of the bottom and the light-dappled black of the mountain. No, I'm not afraid at all. I opened my mouth, but… "Before you call, listen," the Streamer said dispassionately; it fit the lifeless landscape. "These three are the pillars of the world. She is their strength." I felt uneasy in this clear but profound world, amidst a barren but fascinating void. This was completely out of my league and definitely not my company, but oh well… I looked at my sister – Mala and the elders didn't seem to see us, as if time in that land flowed only between the Streamer and me. "She's also my sister," I retorted brutally. "And my world." – when I looked at her, memories came back, I began to feel not like a vampire from a rock, but like Eniel, simply, this strange mask I had put on fell off me; I needed Mala…
"By taking Mala away from them, you're taking away their power. The power of the pillars of the world.
" "Their problem – forgive me: I see my old world, a former part of me that's lost somewhere. My life… life, not perched on a rock… what do I care about these three freaks?!
Unfortunately. I'm not a social activist. I'm a loner. I have my own world and I have to shape it, I'm responsible for it, alone for this unique world. Granted, the rock, the sea, wandering in the distance is pleasant, but that's only part of me.
The other part sits in a cage.
I had to do it.
I can't stand certain things anymore.
" "By taking the girl away from them, you're taking away their power," Strumiennik repeated. "
Yes. The moment is coming. Now the hero sacrifices himself for the good of the universe. He'll suffer, howl, and beat his chest, but…
Strucznik looks at me and… Unbelievable, but something akin to intrigue is reflected in his steely face.
He understands me; I see it in his eyes, which were empty until recently." He descends from his heights of dispassion and takes an interest in my fate.
He knows the question – will a hero save the world?
No. I'm not a hero, I'm a stupid vampire.
I'm lonely, and I've had enough of this loneliness.
Lonely to the point of being deprived of a part of myself.
So when I finally took a step, by an incomprehensible miracle, I tore myself from the rock, and I have a choice…
Forgive me, idealists. I can't anymore.
"Call me by name?" I ask, and without waiting for an answer… "Mala!"
My voice carries between heaven and earth.
It floats far into space.
And what?
.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.
Yes, a vision of a wonderful family scene probably appears before your eyes – wistful cries, tears, shared memories, and general happiness.
Nothing of the sort.
I call my sister by name. Loud, resonant, the sound reverberates off the sky and stars. The three, frozen, avert their gaze from the cage – time is catching up with them too. Fear flashes in their eyes. The streamer meticulously assembles his lyre, Mala peers curiously from behind the bars – this is the last image.
Attention, now a transition to a new one. A better world.
The gaping maw above me – it reflexively throws me back.
Mala.
I see her clearly. Her eternally glazed, as if sleepy eyes. A sharp nose, thin, parched lips, and straight, short hair
. And small, sharp teeth.
Aha. Dear old world has lust, still half animal. Mala snorts at me and grimaces.
Revenge from those three? A small, malicious jab – look, blasphemer, you lost?
I was prepared for this, I expected Mala wouldn't break away from old habits so easily. But who said the pleasures were over?
I look around and see another movement of the despised forces of the world. Vile, little lice, eager for revenge.
Vile, little, ironic lice.
The sea surrounds me. A vast, sun-drenched expanse stretches to the horizon. A wonderfully clear sky.
One element of my dreams.
There's also a boulder – Mala and I are sitting on a rock, which, though small, has two levels, one higher, one lower, and just enough for the two of us.
And then there's Mala.
Mala and I, by the sea! If someone had told me this on the way, I would have called it the embodiment of dreams.
Only the rock we're sitting on is suspended high, high above the sea. So high that the sea's surface forms an arc on the horizon.
I've become a prisoner of my dreams.
Irony, I think to myself. If a blasphemer blasphemes for the sake of his fantasies, let's give him his fantasies, ha ha.
I could get irritated now, swear revenge or something, but I see the comfort of my situation. First, that Mala won't escape me, second, that no matter how you look at it, I'm by—literally by—the sea. The only thing that might bother me is the lack of movement.
But I'm already losing the desire for escapades. I've already done one: now I want to rest, reach Mala, and soak up the sea. I need to return to my old world, find the lost pieces...
Revenge or reward, it flashes through my mind, but I don't pursue it. It doesn't matter.
I cross my arms behind my head, cross my legs. The sky above me, Mala in front of me looks around warily. She's about to jump at me; she has a very explosive temper.
I remember.
I look at her gently. I'm taking my time; we have plenty of time to get to each other.
My gaze frightens her, she starts to fidget.
My memories.
My world.
Watch out, I'm coming.
