Ed Cody, Adventures in Africa - Sabbat Tat

[lawrencegillies.livejournal.com]

I had been in South Africa for a few nights now, resupplying before heading northwards again on a sweep through the Eastern African troublespots. After months spent travelling with Kansas, I had finally tired of him and had skipped out early one evening before he awoke. Shortly afterwards I received news that I should go to a location of the border with Swaziland, and there I would find something to my advantage.

 

The camp was exactly where I was told it would be. It was shortly after dusk and I had not long been awake, when I approached the campfire, regarding those around it with wary appraisal. There were a few figures there, one sitting by the fire, and two sitting at a discreet distance from it. There was a slight figure, swathed almost completely in clothing, Arab style, with only what I assumed to be her eyes visible, she appeared to be patiently waiting. The other was a westerner, in a trenchcoat and broad brimmed hat, who sat with a book tilted to catch the light of the fire.

 

Largely ignoring the old man by the fire, I began talking to the presumed woman, whose voice quickly confirmed my assumption. I introduced myself to her, and she had heard of me, which was odd – but then, I’m increasingly running into people who have heard of me. I spoke to her of my adventures through Africa, and that I had ditched my companion, Kansas, at the beginning of the previous night. I told her that he was fun to be around, but my presence at this campfire justified my feeling that he had been holding me back from achieving my goal of finding Troile.

 

We talked further, and the Westerner, a Gangrel called Beckett, set aside his book and the three of us talked about fate, and fear and freedom. I noticed that the old man by the fireside had pricked up his ears, but I figured I could always kill him if I absolutely had to. Eventually, he joined us, announcing that he was to be our guide and that the time had come for us to set out.

 

We spent the rest of the evening walking, and I talked to him and the others as we walked. I told him of my desire for true freedom, for Kindred, Cainite and mortals, I told him of life in the Camarilla, mostly for the eyebrow-raising outrage that this provoked in Becket. We walked through the Veldt, until we could sense the impending approach of dawn.

 

The old man showed us to a cave where he told us we could rest in safety. We entered and began to explore the cave as the old man – I call him this, but it was probably more the mileage than the actual years with him – set himself in the mouth of the cage, almost as if in a meditative pose. We explored. By the feeble light of my lighter, we discovered that the cave curved slightly as it went back, and as we made our way to the back of the cave we found a strange thing indeed.

 

There, at the utmost back of the cave was a throne carved out of stone. It was not ornate, but there was a definite grandeur in its simplicity. Almost involuntarily I reached out to touch it, and as I ran my fingertips along the simple arm of the throne I noticed the indentations of fingers that had gripped it with an incredible strength. With dawn imminent I sat, with my back to a wall near to the throne, and felt sleep steal upon me.

 

That night I dreamt, and I knew it to be a dream of significance. I dreamt that I was walking through a market, possibly souk would be a better description as there was a definite Arabic feel to it. It was not familiar to me from my travels in North Africa, but the Arabic flavour was unmistakeable. My eyes were drawn to a beautiful, dark-haired woman, hooded and cloaked who walked easily through the crowd. For a few moments I followed her, before the dream faded.

 

I awoke as usual to the last few moments of the red tinted sky of dusk. Our guide was crouched in the entrance to the cave in such a way that it was difficult to tell whether he had actually moved during the day. As it transpired, he must have, as stood at my approach, and as the others began to stir, he welcomed us and directed our attention to the sheep that he had obviously procured during the daylight hours. We talked during our trek that night, and it appears that all three of us had had dreams very similar to mine.

 

We walked on for many nights, and as nights turned into weeks the routine remained the same. Sometimes we talked, sometimes we walked in silence, each wrapped in their own thoughts. Each dawn we rested in safety, and each dusk we were presented with sustenance – sometimes sheep, sometimes goats, sometimes gazelles, or some similar creature, and on one occasion we were presented with an incredibly embarrassed looking mountain lion, trussed and secure. When we as asked about this, our guide told us that he had originally caught a gazelle, but the interference of the lion had resulted in a change of plan.

 

Finally, he told us that shortly after the next night fall we would be reaching our destination. Sure enough, after a brief walk we crested a hill and saw the lights of a village reflected from the surface of a vast lake.

 

“There.” He said, pointing. It took me a moment to realise that he was pointing to the lake and not the settlement.

 

“Really?” I asked.

 

“There.” He said simply, continuing to point. I thanked him for bringing us here, and gave him two hundred dollars for his efforts. I don’t know if the philosophical discussion, and repeated references to my journey as pilgrimage was getting to me, but it seemed like the thing to do.

 

We walked down to the shore. Without hesitation I continued walking until I was fully submerged in the waters of the Lake – Lake Malawi as I had discovered. As I walked on with my companions beside me, the silt disturbed by our passage, and the increasing depth meant that visibility had reduced to virtually nothing. I could just make out what appeared to be members of the Angler Fish Synchronised Display Team to either side of me – the glowing eyes of my companions as they tried to pierce the enveloping gloom. Suddenly, I stepped out into nothing, and I sank sharply. I recovered quickly from my surprise to realise that I must have just stepped off a rock shelf.

 

I landed, with my fellow travellers beside me, in an Arabic market, the stars shone above us, but the market was in full swing nonetheless. I took a moment to recover from this unexpected landing.

 

“What the fuck…” I began.

 

“Some sort of shared dream or hallucination, possibly” said my cloth shrouded companion – I don’t know why, but her name just hasn’t stuck in my brain. Becket nodded sagely at her suggestion. Lacking any better idea, I headed off into the market, which we had all quickly identified as the one from our dream. Shortly after we had started walking, we saw her. She was just as beautiful as before, and we followed her as she went, and I found myself whistling a tune to myself, which I later realised was “She Moves Through The Fair” which just goes to show how horribly literal my subconscious can be at times.

 

She went into a shop, with some sort of lamp or amphora above the door. We followed, and failed to see her. We chatted with the shopkeeper, and after much discussion, I ended up exchanging my silver ring for a flask of his best lamp oil. Just as this transaction finished, she approached the shopkeeper and ordered some of the same oil. I winked at her and said hello in Arabic. We fell to talking and she invited us all for some refreshment.

 

She guided us to some rooms, and we spoke briefly before she excused herself to get us some refreshments. She returned with Arabic coffee, and a bottle of thick red liquid. She then excused herself again, telling us that there was an important errand that she had to complete, but that she would return to us as quickly as she might. I tried some of the blood that she had brought, and was surprised to find that a regard for her was blossoming in me.

 

I poured out what remained as my paranoia returned. I had been lulled out of the practice by the journey here, but now it returned full force.

 

“Is it not good?” Beckett enquired.

 

“No. C’mon, let’s go.”

 

We left the room and returned to the market. Looking around I saw a massive building that had to be the Palace. I led us towards it, and as we approached, we saw the girl again, hurrying through the crowded souk. We became very interested in one of the stalls, and despite out clothing being so out of place here, she failed to notice us, obviously intent on her task.

 

On a hunch, I loitered up to the Palace gates, and found an unobtrusive place to watch from. Sure enough, she returned not long after, this time with a distinctly worried look on her face. Enough, I thought, was enough and I followed her brazenly in through the palace gates, my companions following with an air of resignation. The guards looked up as I entered. One of them appeared about to challenge us, but then seemed to think better of it.

 

We followed her through the palace, and she was oblivious to our presence so intent was she on reaching her destination. As she approached a set of double doors, I decided that I wanted to have a little word with her. Using the power of my blood I accelerated to catch up with her. As soon as I did so she appeared aware, and she turned to face me. As she saw me she seemed pleased.

 

“Good, I am pleased it is you. I was to take you before my Mistress.” She said, in a pleasant tone. The arm that I had raised to grab her instead slid around her shoulders, and as I spoke, I let the force of my personality shine through.

 

“Who is your mistress? Why does she want to see us?” I could see her warming to me, and she smiled almost coyly as she replied.

 

“My mistress is Anise, Queen of All the Night.”

 

I managed to maintain my poise as my brain span frantically trying to place the name. Then it clicked. Anise, broodmate of Troile. Reputedly it was she who persuaded him to put the moves on Brujah. Frankly, I’m impressed at holding it together at this point. Taking my arm from her shoulder, I turned to my companions.

 

“Right, we’re about to meet an incredibly old and powerful Brujah. Remember, the temper thing definitely applies here.” The other s nodded. I wasn’t quite certain that they got it, but that hadn’t proved themselves stupid yet. A small hand slid down my forearm and fingers intertwined with mine.

 

“Come, we must go.” Said the Lady from the Market, and I let her lead me on through the double doors.

 

We entered a room that could only be described as vast. Decorated in the Arabic style, where was a small “island” surrounded by water. On this island was a divan, complete with gauzy curtains. There were two figures. There was a lady who lounged on the divan, not in a sensual way, but there was definitely grace and beauty. The man again was dressed in Arabic style, but I did not recognise him.

 

We approached the little bridge that led to the island and I extricated my hand from that of our escort.

 

“Ok guys, let’s do this!” I said as I reached out either side of me and gave my travelling companions a tap and let some of my strength to resist the personality of others flow into them. I must confess that I smiled inwardly as I saw them both struggle for a moment to resist their Beast stirring with in them. I don’t think I’d tapped them too hard! I turned back to the bridge, and our escort led us across.

 

She halted then announced that we were indeed in the presence of Anise, Queen of All the Night. I bowed, again it seemed like the thing to do, and although was very scruffy bow, it appears to have sufficed. I introduced my self, and let the others introduce themselves.    

 

Anise spoke, but I did not understand the language. I apologised and said as much. Manners, I felt were probably a good idea in this meeting. At this, the girl who had escorted us here began to translate into Arabic for me. She welcomed us here to Baghdad. My mind rebelled slightly at this, but I felt it best not to gainsay her at this point. She asked us why we had come.

 

I told her that I was seeking Troile; I told her that I sought him because I was deeply interested in the concept of Freedom, but not quite in the Sabbat definition of the word. She stopped me then, asking what the Sabbat was. Again, feeling that honesty was the best policy here, I told her of the Anarch revolt, of the destruction of Lasombra and Tsimisce, of the fall of Constantinople and of the Treaty of Thorns. I gave her dates, places, everything that I could remember of my teachings from both sides of the fence.

 

Again she stopped me.

 

“You speak of events that are still twenty or more years in the future. How do you know of these things?”

 

“Lady,” I replied, “To me these things are five hundred and fifty years past.”

 

For a moment, she looked at me.

 

We were underwater again, back at the bottom of Lake Malawi. The transition was sudden. There, here. Like the flick of a switch. I looked around, but there wasn’t much point, visibility was virtually nil. I took as step, and hit something solid and sheer.

 

I examined it with my hands and it was regular, man made. I thought I could feel some kind of inscription. I couldn’t even attempt to read it in this light. Ah, there. I grabbed one of the Angler Fish Display Team members and encouraged her, as it turned out, head towards the stone to use like a torch. A hand gripped my wrist, but she could not free herself.

 

I heard a voice in my mind:

 

“Would. You. Please. Let. Go.” There was a barely restrained anger in the voice. Then a pause. I couldn’t read the inscription anyway, so I let go.

 

“Our Gangrel friend tells me it’s Phoenician. The casket of a princess, lost at sea.” She continued after a pause

 

I explored the extent of the tomb. It was approximately person sized, rectangular, and appeared to be attached to the top of a large slab of stone.

 

“Can we take it with us?” Again a pause.

 

“It is securely attached to the stone.” The calm voice replied. I swung a fist and took the corner off the stone platform.

 

“I think I can lift it” Then I thought, screw it, this is taking too long. I returned to the sarcophagus, my fingers found a seam, and with an effort I flipped the lid free. Beckett, his archaeological training showing, attempted to catch it. There was a rush of air, and as it cleared I looked in. There appeared to be stairs so I vaulted in and went down, once again in air and dryness. No, I have no idea how the air was kept there, but at this stage I was ready to accept “Magic” as an answer.

 

I followed the stairs down, hearing the others following me, and arrived in a very familiar looking hall. As before it was vast;

 

“Casket my arse!” I thought.

 

Again, as before, there was the island in the middle with its divan. This time there was only one figure was there, lying as if asleep upon the divan. I approached, and the others with me. We all recognised Anise fro the hallucination shared reality thing. She was even paler than before, but I noticed a change in tone as it appeared that her veins were refilling.

 

“When an elder wakes up, they’re usually hungry aren’t they?” I asked, edging surreptitiously backwards. Beckett and my other companion didn’t notice, they were watching Anise, Beckett appeared to be making notes.

 

“Usually.” Beckett said absently.

 

“Shouldn’t we, well, not be here when it happens then?” I asked. There was vague agreement to this so I headed for the exit again. As I went, I thought about the village by the shore, of a ravening Anise laying waste to it, and I thought of everything that I had been saying about fear, and the need for us not to be monsters. I reached the foot of the stairs, where I turned suddenly and said:

 

“We’re not going anywhere.” I thought the two of them might just be able to substitute for the village. Fair trade, in my opinion. 
 

My female companion was right behind me.

 

“I think we’ll be leaving now.” The force of her words ebbed away. The wave of her will broke against the majesty of my personality. The she turned round.

 

I lost track of her then, and barely noticed Beckett, still scribbling in his book and checking his watch. My attention was squarely on Anise, who was sitting up now and swinging her legs off the divan. Her gaze swept around the room. Suddenly, there was a puff of ash from the air three feet to my left. It struck me then that I never could remember her name.

 

Her gaze settled on me for what felt like an eternity. A prickling feeling broke out on my flesh, then I saw something change in her eyes, and her gaze moved on.

 

She looked at Beckett. His eyes widened for a moment, then, like a submarine crash diving, he melted into the earth at his feet.

 

She stood, and walked with a terrible grace. Her step appeared light, and yet resonated through the chamber. I could not take my eyes from her as she approached. She closed the distance, and I set myself, braced to take whatever might befall. She stopped in front of me and I could smell the perfume still lingering on her alabaster skin. She leaned forward, her head moving towards my neck. I stood impassively as she kissed me lightly upon the cheek and whispered in my ear, in perfect English

 

“As I recall, you are supposed to awaken the lady with a kiss.”

 

Without thinking and without hesitation I leant forward and kissed her upon the cheek. She stepped back and looked at me for a split second. Then she tilted her head back and laughed, a good hearty laugh of genuine amusement.

 

Her eyes fell upon me once more and she spoke. My mind drifted, and I know not the words she spoke to me. She moved past me then, and with her foot upon the first stair she turned back and looked at me.

 

“There is a thing that you shall do for me, Mr Cody. Tell my old friend Lemeth that I am returned.”

 

I wracked my brain, but the name meant nothing to me. In the vision she had counselled me to honesty, so I spoke up:

 

“Lady, I do not know anyone of that name. Has he other names by which he is known? Do you know where he might be found?”

 

She had gone up a couple of steps, but she paused and looked back over her shoulder with a smile.

 

“He is also known as Japeth Cappodcious, and for a time he resided to the East. I know not of his whereabouts in these nights.”

 

“Oh, that’s not good.”  I said, mostly to myself, absently brushing ash from my shoulder. She smiled again and her voice drifted back as she continued to ascend the stairs.

 

“Perhaps not, but I shall keep my promise to you Mr Cody.”

 

 

Comments

[lanfykins.livejournal.com]

Oh dear. This cannot be good.

Using the power of my blood I accelerated to catch up with her. As soon as I did so she appeared aware

Temporis much?

[lawrencegillies.livejournal.com]

Hmm, Broodmate to Troile, Temporis extreme goob is, I think, more than a possibility!

[lawrencegillies.livejournal.com]

Crap! Now I think about the statement - That was just the servant!

[lanfykins.livejournal.com]

And the servant was just using level 1 temporis...

Not sure what level the 350 years ago bit was, but I'm thinking rather better than advanced :)