by Simon Hawke
“We fenced the stones several times,” said Kira, “but they kept magically returning to us. And the people that we’d sold them to thought we’d pulled a fast one. One of them was pretty well connected and he put out a hit on us. And the guy who happened to pick up the contract was Modred.”
“We had the police after us,” Wyrdrune added, “as well as a bunch of hoods working for the fences who thought we’d burned them, and one of them called in some favors and imported this heavy-duty hit man from Europe—we didn’t know it was Modred at the time, of course—and on top of that, somebody else was after us, as well. An adept. A necromancer who was working for AT Hassan. We didn’t know what the hell was going on. We just knew that we were in way over our heads. A lot of people were after us and most of them wanted us dead. All we wanted was to get rid of the damned stones. Except we couldn’t. So as a last resort, I turned to my old teacher.
“Merlin was the first to figure out what the runestones were,” Wyrdrune went on, “but before we could decide what to do next, Modred caught up to us. And that’s when it happened. When the three of us were all together, the runestones bonded with us and we had this unbelievable moment of shared memory and experience that must have lasted only an instant, but felt like it took hours. It all came together and we found out who we really were. The three of us were all descended from Gorlois, through his three daughters, and that’s why we were chosen by the runestones, which were still animated by the spirits of the Council. Together, we were able to effect the spell known as the Living Triangle, the most powerful weapon the Council had against the Dark Ones. It absorbs their life energy and kills them, which is what the Council should have done with the bastards in the first place. I don’t know, maybe they weren’t strong enough after the war. The spell consumes an incredible amount of energy. If it didn’t absorb the life force of the Dark Ones it destroys, it would undoubtedly kill all three of us.”
“But if that’s the way it works,” the President said, “then doesn’t that make it necromancy?”
“Yes, I suppose it does,” said Wyrdrune flatly. For a moment, no one spoke. Then Wyrdrune cleared his throat and continued. “AT Hassan managed to release the Dark Ones before we could stop him. Merlin tried to hold them off until we got there, but we were too late and it cost him his life. Officially, he’s supposed to have died when his mansion burned down in Boston’s Beacon Hill, but just before the end, he managed to astral project and thereby preserve his life force, though it floated around disembodied for a while.”
“Until he found me,” said Billy. “Actually, he didn’t find me so much as he was drawn to me, because I’m his descendant. He never knew he had a son with Nimue, much less a descendant in the present, so I was a complete surprise to him. As he was to me.”
“You say his spirit was drawn to you,” the President said. “How, exactly?”
“I really couldn’t say,” Billy replied. “It had to go somewhere, I suppose, or else just keep drifting around on the astral plane, like some sort of ghost. I don’t suppose he had any choice in the matter. Whatever it was, a psychic or genetic link or maybe both, it just sort of drew us together.”
“What was it like?” the President asked.
“Well, at first I thought I was going crazy,” Billy said. “Suddenly, out of nowhere, there seemed to be someone else inside my head. It’s like looking in the mirror and having somebody else look back at you. It’s your face, but there’s someone else behind it. And then he started talking to me. It was like being possessed. And he wasn’t too thrilled about it, either. Having his spirit trapped inside the body of an adolescent Cockney punk decked out in spiky hair and leathers wasn’t exactly Merlin’s cup of tea, if you know what I mean. And for that matter, I wasn’t too keen on having some cantankerous old geezer inside my head, telling me what to do, even if he was a wizard and gave me the ability to do magic. Actually, he had the ability, I didn’t. We could only do magic when he was in the driver’s seat. It was pretty weird, I can tell you. To say we didn’t exactly get along at first would be a bloody understatement. We kept fighting each other for control. Eventually, we got things sorted out, after a fashion, but it wasn’t easy, going around sharing consciousness with your own great-great-great-great-grandfather.”
“I think you left out a couple of greats,” said Wyrdrune with a grin.
“Stuff it. Anyway, we all eventually joined up in London to battle a Dark One in Whitechapel, but there was still one more surprise in store for all of us. Me, in particular. Gorlois wasn’t dead. That is, Uther had killed his physical form, but his spirit had survived. Just before he died, Gorlois infused his life force into a runestone that was mounted in a ring. A fire opal that passed down to Morgana and became the source of much of her power. She, in turn, gave it to her husband… that is, the one she married in the present time, an adept named Thanatos, who was working with her for the ITC. When he was killed helping us defeat a Dark One in Los Angeles, I got the ring and wound up becoming the repository of the life forces of both Merlin and Gorlois. And it just about put me around the bend, let me tell you. Merlin had helped Uther kill Gorlois and there was no love lost between them.”
“You mean it’s like having a split personality?” asked the President, fascinated.
“For a while, it was,” said Billy. “But I’m integrated now.”
“What exactly does that mean?”
“We’ve all blended into one personality,” Billy replied. “That happened in Santa Fe, New Mexico, when I was nearly killed by one of the Dark Ones. And I would have died if Merlin and Gorlois hadn’t both given up their life forces to revitalize mine. It resulted in a complete physical transformation where I took on aspects of both of them, in addition to my own. Gorlois was an albino, but Merlin wasn’t, and I was a sort of melting pot of various minorities. I don’t know what the bloody hell I am now. A bit of all three, I suppose. I’ve aged about ten years, but on the other hand, I’m part immortal now, so I guess I’ll be living a lot longer. And I wasn’t an adept before. Now I’ve got the powers of a mage.”
“Hard to keep up without a scorecard, isn’t it?” said Wyrdrune wryly.
“I’ll say,” replied the President, shaking her head with amazement. She glanced at Makepeace. “And just exactly how do you fit in, Dr. Makepeace?”
It was the question he had known was coming. He had briefly debated giving the same answer that he always gave, but this time he knew it wouldn’t be enough. He could tell by the way both McClellan and Wetterman were looking at him. They knew. And though the President wore a carefully neutral expression, she doubtless knew, as well. They knew about the Morpheus connection, the name under which Modred had functioned when he was a professional assassin. The best in all the world. They knew about the times he’d served as a middleman for Morpheus because on several occasions he had done it for the government, though never on American soil. They had dug down deep and no doubt found the tombstone in County Kerry where the paper trail ended. And beyond that, they knew nothing more. And that wasn’t going to satisfy them.
“Sebastian is a vital part of our effort,” Billy said. “He’s an integral part of our support network, which includes—”
“No, Billy, I’m afraid that isn’t going to do,” said Makepeace, interrupting him. “They already know all that. What they want to know is who I really am. Or perhaps more to the point, what I really am. And I suspect that by now, Mr. Wetterman, at least, has already guessed the answer. “ He glanced at Wetterman.
The head of the NSA nodded. “You’re one of them, aren’t you?”
Wyrdrune frowned. “What are you talking about? One of whom?”
“There’s no point to playing innocent anymore, Mr. Karpinski,” Wetterman replied, addressing Wyrdrune by his true name. “As Dr. Makepeace said, we’ve already guessed the answer. He’s one of the Old Ones.”
Chapter 2
“What?” said Wyrdrune, staring at Makepeace.
“You mean you real
ly didn’t know?” said Wetterman with some surprise.
“Sebastian?” Kira said, looking at him with a puzzled expression.
“It’s true,” admitted Makepeace. He looked at Wyrdrune. “You never really believed I was a fairy, did you? You thought what everybody else does, what I wanted them to think, that I was a rather dotty old academician, self-taught in magic, who cultivated an amusing eccentricity to seem a bit more colorful. Ironically enough, I really am a fairy. Though not in the way that you might think. Have you ever heard of the people of the sidhe?”
“The shee?” said Wyrdrune.
“It’s spelled s-i-d-h-e,” said Wetterman. “From the Gaelic siod, which means a barrow or a mound. The aes sidhe, the people of the mounds, were the legendary fairy race of Ireland, also known as the Tuatha De Danann.”
Makepeace nodded. “I see you’re a student of history, Mr. Wetterman. A doctorate, I presume?”
Wetterman nodded.
“Well, you’re quite correct, of course,” said Makepeace, “except in a few significant particulars for which you cannot really be faulted, since history does not report them. There was, indeed, a tribe known as the De Danann, who worshipped the pagan goddess Danu, or Diana in more modern terminology. They were conquered by the Milesians during the Bronze Age. Merlin’s mother was a De Danann woman. She was human, as were most of the De Danann. But not all. When Gorlois first came to the British Isles, it was because he knew some of us had settled there to live among them and avoid the persecution we experienced after the war. Actually, persecution is not quite the proper term. Retribution would be much more accurate. The humans had little reason to love the Old Ones.”
“But the De Danann accepted you?” asked Wetterman.
“They didn’t know,” Makepeace replied. “The world was a much larger place then and the islands of what is now Great Britain and Ireland were far removed from the Old Ones’ sphere of influence. They had never lived among them, and they had never heard of them. The Old Ones became their wise men and their cunning women, their Druid priests. They lived together in peace and intermarried. When the De Danann were overrun, there were too few of us to help them. And our powers were not on the same level as those of the departed Council or the imprisoned Dark Ones. Many were killed. The rest scattered and became known as the fairy folk of legend.”
“Exactly how old are you?” the President asked.
“I’m really not sure,” Makepeace replied with a shrug. “I was a first-generation half-breed, like Merlin, one of the first of the true fairies. Half human, half immortal. My father was an immortal Druid priest, my mother a De Danann tribeswoman. They were both killed during the invasion. I was roughly in my teens then. I would estimate my age at somewhere around two thousand years, give or take a century or two. I’m afraid I never was quite sure when I was born, exactly. We didn’t keep very careful track of such things back then.”
“Two thousand years!” the President said with amazement. She shook her head with disbelief. “You don’t look a day over sixty.”
“Well, I do age,” Makepeace replied, “albeit very slowly. I have no idea what my actual life expectancy is. I suppose I will die of old age someday, barring any unfortunate accident that may hasten my demise, but I have no idea when. Not for at least another thousand years or so, I should guess. Frankly, if I’d known I was going to live this long, I would have taken better care of myself.”
“Why didn’t you ever tell us?” Kira asked.
Makepeace shrugged. “Old habits die hard, I suppose. Those of us who had survived learned a long time ago to hide our true nature. Besides, you would have asked me many questions to which I had no answers.”
“About the Council, you mean,” Wyrdrune said.
“About the Council, the Dark Ones, and a lot of other things,” said Makepeace. “In the past, quite long ago, there were a few people to whom I’d told the truth. It never worked out very well in the long run. I really do wish I had some answers for you. I wish I had them for myself. But the Council was before my time, you see. As were the Dark Ones. They were already gone by the time I was born and my father never mentioned anything about them. I learned the truth as you did, only recently. Mr. Wetterman was not quite correct, you see. “ He glanced at the NSA chief. “You were, in essence, but I’m not quite the same as the Council or the Dark Ones. I’m part human. And I’m not as old.”
“But you’re still one of them,” said one of the presidential aides, staring at Makepeace with distrust.
“Only in a sense,” Makepeace replied. “Natasha here is one of them, as well, in the same sense. She owes her psychic abilities to the fact that she, too, is descended from a mixed marriage between a human and an Old One, just as Wyrdrune, Kira, and Billy are. Just as every licensed adept is, even you, Mr. McClellan. The ability to use magic is the heritage of the Old Ones, passed on from generation to generation. It is diluted somewhat over time, but the genetic strain is strong. Adepts or those with the potential to become adepts live longer on the average than most people. Though I fear they will never live as long as me. The gene for longevity is not as persistent as the one for magic, I’m afraid. But humans who are descended from the Old Ones tend to be healthier, and they tend to be more sensitive, psychically speaking. It usually takes training to bring out the abilities, but not in all cases, right, Natasha?”
The Gypsy nodded. “I’ve had it since I was a little girl. I’ve always wondered why I couldn’t really read you. I just figured you were one of those rare people who could shield.”
“And you were right,” said Makepeace with a smile. He turned to the President and Wetterman. “So, now you know the truth about me. And about the rest of this fascinating story. The question is, what are you going to do about it?”
“The question is, what can we do about it?” asked the President. “Legally, we can’t have sorcerer vigilantes hunting down and killing necromancers. But at the same time, we can’t exactly arrest them and hold them for trial, can we?”
“Not a chance,” said Wyrdrune. “No jail ever built would hold them. And anyone trying to arrest them wouldn’t live long enough to read them their rights. The only way to stop them is to kill them.”
“How many of these Dark Ones are there?” asked the President.
“We don’t know for certain,” said Wyrdrune. “Some were killed before they managed to escape. Some we’ve taken out since then. And some remain at large. But there can’t be very many of them.”
“We’ll know when the last of them is gone,” said Billy suddenly.
“How?” asked Wetterman.
“Yeah, how?” asked Wyrdrune, puzzled.
Billy frowned. “I’m not sure. But Gorlois must’ve known, because I never knew that before. It must have been a memory fragment from him.”
“That means the runestones must know, too,” said Wyrdrune.
“But you don’t?” the President asked.
Wyrdrune shook his head. “Consciously, we know only what they want us to know,” he said. “It’s difficult to explain. We can’t really conduct a dialogue with the spirits of the stones. Or if we can, they don’t want to for some reason. They give us strange dreams sometimes. They alert us if there’s a Dark One nearby, or one of their acolytes.”
“Acolytes?” asked the President.
“A human they’ve placed under their power,” Kira said.
“I see. And that could be anybody?”
“Anyone they chose,” said Wyrdrune.
“And is there a limit to how many people they could place under their power?” asked the President.
“Theoretically, no,” said Wyrdrune. “It depends on how much energy they have. But it doesn’t take much for them to possess someone.”
“Great,” said the President. “So we’re looking at the potential for the terrorist group from hell.”
“That’s a good way of putting it,” said Billy.
“Congress would go ballistic if they found out about th
is. And if they get wind of it, the press will know in a heartbeat. “ The President shook her head grimly. “Too many people know about this already. I don’t see how we’re going to keep the lid on.”
“We’re working on the assumption that we won’t be able to,” said Wetterman. “There are too many variables we can’t control. But at least we have plausible deniability. Outside of a few trusted people in this administration, only a handful of people know about this, and they can all be counted on. And nobody except the people in this room knows this meeting is taking place. No one even knows you’re in New York.”
“What good is that going to do us?” asked the President. “For God’s sake, there’s a lot more at stake here than the next election, Brian.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” said Wetterman, “but that isn’t the point. The point is we’ve got to do everything we can to help these people, but legally, we can’t. Specifically, you can’t. If anything goes wrong, the office of the President can’t be seen to be involved in something that circumvents our entire system of justice. Officially, you don’t know about any of this. You can’t.”
“Okay, so I don’t know about it,” she said. “Where does that leave us?”
“It leaves the ITC holding the bag,” said Wetterman. “Bill and I have already discussed this. A good case could be made for this being under their exclusive jurisdiction, since it involves magic crime on an international scale. But it’s also a matter of national security, which means it comes under my purview, as well. Our story’s going to be that I was the man in this administration contacted by the ITC as soon as they found out about it and I took it upon myself to classify this whole operation top secret. Officially, the buck stops at my desk. It never got to yours. And that’s the way it has to be.”