Taltos (Lives of the Mayfair Witches #3)(123)
Author: Anne Rice

Another development took place. As I said earlier, there were always those born in the glen who wanted to leave. It was deeply impressed upon them that they must remember the way home. They must look at the stars and never forget the various patterns that could guide them home. And this became a part of innate knowledge very rapidly because we deliberately cultivated it, and this cultivation worked. In fact, it worked amazingly well, opening up to us all kinds of new possibilities. We could program into the innate knowledge all manner of practical things. We put it to the test by questioning the offspring. It was quite astonishing. They knew the map of Britain as we knew it and preserved it (highly inaccurate), they knew how to make weapons, they knew the importance of secrecy, they knew the fear and hatred of human beings and how best to avoid them or triumph over them. They knew the Art of the Tongue.

Now, the Art of the Tongue, as we called it, was something we never thought of until the humans came. But it was essentially talking and reasoning with people, which we did with each other all the time. Now, basically we speak among ourselves much, much faster than humans, sometimes. Not always. Just sometimes. It sounds to humans like a whistling or a humming, or even a buzzing. But we can talk more in human rhythm, and we had learned how to speak to humans on their level, that is, to confuse them and entangle them in logic, to fascinate them and to influence them somewhat.

Obviously this Art of the Tongue wasn’t saving us from extinction.

But it could save a lone Taltos discovered by a pair of humans in the forest, or a Taltos man taken prisoner by a small human clan with no ties to the warrior people who had invaded the land.

Anyone venturing out must know the Art of the Tongue, of speaking slowly to humans, on their level, and doing it in a convincing way. And inevitably some of those who left decided to settle outside.

They built their brochs, that is, our style of tower, of dry stone without mortar, and lived in wild and isolated places, passing for humans to those new peoples who happened to pass their home.

It was a sort of clan existence that developed defensively, and in scattered locales.

But inevitably these Taltos would reveal their nature to humans, or humans would war on them, or someone would learn of the magical Taltos birth, and again talk of us, talk of the glen, would circulate among hostile men.

I myself, having ever been inventive and forward-looking and refusing to give up, ever—even when the whole lost land was exploding, I did not give up—more or less thought ours was a lost cause. We could, for the present, defend the glen, that was true, when outsiders did occasionally break in on us, but we were essentially trapped!

But the question of those who passed for human, those who lived among human beings, pretending to be an old tribe or clan—that fascinated me. That got me to thinking…. What if we were to do this? What if, instead of shutting human beings out, we slowly let them in, leading them to believe that we were a human tribe too, and we lived in their midst, keeping our birth rituals secret from them?

Meantime great changes in the outside world held a great fascination for us. We wanted to speak to travelers, to learn. And so, finally, we devised a dangerous subterfuge….

Twenty-six

“YURI STEFANO HERE. Can I help you?”

“Can you help me! God, it’s good to hear your voice,” said Michael. “We’ve been separated less than forty-eight hours, but the Atlantic Ocean is between us!”

“Michael. Thank God you called me. I didn’t know where to reach you. You’re still with Ash, aren’t you?”

“Yes, and we will be for another two days, I think. I’ll tell you all about it, but how are things with you?”

“It’s over, Michael. It’s over. All the evil is gone, and the Talamasca is itself again. This morning I received my first communication from the Elders. We’re taking serious measures to see that this sort of interception can never happen again. I have my work cut out for me, writing my reports. The new Superior General has recommended that I rest, but that’s impossible.”

“But you have to rest some of the time, Yuri. You know you do. We all do.”

“I sleep for four hours. Then I get up. I think about what happened. I write. I write for maybe four, five hours. Then I sleep again. At mealtimes they come and get me. They make me go downstairs. It’s nice. It’s nice to be back with them. But what about you, Michael?”

“Yuri, I love this man. I love Ash the way I loved Aaron. I’ve been listening to him talk for hours. It’s no secret, what he’s telling us, of course, but he won’t let us record any of it. He says that we should take away only what we naturally remember. Yuri, I don’t think this man will ever hurt us or anyone connected with us. I’m sure of it. You know, it’s one of those situations. I’ve put my trust in him. And if he does come to hurt us, for any reason, well, that’s going to be what happens.”

“I understand. And Rowan? How is she?”

“I think she loves him too. I know she does. But how much and in what way, well, that’s her story. I never could speak for Rowan. We’re going to stay here, as I said, for another two days, maybe more, then we have to go back down south. We’re a little worried about Mona.”

“Why?”

“It’s nothing terrible. She’s run off with her cousin Mary Jane Mayfair—this is a young woman you’ve not had the pleasure of meeting—and they’re a bit too young to be running around without any parental supervision.”

“Michael, I’ve written a letter to Mona. I had to write it. You know, before I left New Orleans, I pledged my heart to Mona. But Mona is too young for such a pledge, and now that I am home, back with the Order, I realize more than ever how unsuited I am to court Mona. I’ve sent my letter to the Amelia Street address, but I fear that Mona will, for a little while at least, be angry with me.”

“Yuri, Mona has other things on her mind right now. This is probably the best decision you could have made. We forget that Mona is thirteen. Everybody forgets it. And certainly Mona forgets it. But you’ve done the right thing. Besides, she can contact you if she wants to, can’t she?”

“Yes, I am here. I am safe. I am home.”

“And Tessa?”

“Well, they took her away, Michael. That’s the Talamasca for you. I’m sure that’s what happened to her. She was surrounded by a very courtly group of companions and invited to go with them, probably to Amsterdam. I kissed her goodbye before she left. There was some talk of a nice place for her where she could rest, and where all her memories and stories would be recorded. No one seems to know how to calculate her age. No one knows if what Ash has said is true, that she will die soon.”