Anything but Ordinary (28 page)

‘Ray says they were the Giants in the Norse legends,’ said Stiles*

*
[
He did not bother to ask how she knew what Tamar and Denny were up to. He was used to this sort of thing. If Hecaté said it was okay, then it was okay. She would explain later – when there was time. There was never time for explanations in the middle of things. And he had learned that asking questions wasted valuable time.  They needed to trust each other.]

‘How very astute of him,’ Hecaté said. ‘They are indeed. But so much more.’

‘Tell me,’ he said.

‘The most ancient of all the races of gods,’ she said, ‘were not the products of imagination and belief, as were the later ones. They were a race, like that of humans, similar but with greater powers. They came to this world to rule it.  And when they failed, they ascended to a different plane of existence. They became as spirits, harmless, weak and invisible.  But now they have descended back into physical bodies. I have discovered their weakness in this form. The manner in which we shall separate them from the bodies they have … have …’

‘Hijacked,’ said Stiles tersely.

‘Yes, but first we need to summon them. And that my dear is why I need you.’

‘Okay.’ Stiles waited.

‘They are waiting to be summoned by Loki. He will summon them to a place of great magic.  Their spiritual home you might say. I have seen this place – I flew over it and saw the summoning taking place. I will explain this later. There is a stone, like in nature to the portal stones that guarded the Faerie realm yet not quite the same, there we will summon the Tuatha and undo their spell.’

‘You want me to impersonate Loki,’ he surmised,  ‘with the gauntlet.’

‘He is Tuatha, as is Leir. In their current form, tied down by the flesh, their consciousness’ pulled a million different ways by the demands of their living bodies, buried under layers of human feelings and emotions and distracting thoughts, they will only recognize that a powerful Tuatha is summoning them. They will not be able to make the distinction, not while their minds are thus fogged. This weakness in them, I have now seen for myself.  They are expecting Loki’s summons. Why should they not respond? They
will
respond.’

‘I agree. They probably will. But what are you going to do when they do?’

‘I am a goddess, do you doubt me?’

‘That’s not an answer,’ he pointed out.

‘I will give them a choice,’ she said. 

‘Oooh, nasty,’ said Stiles without a trace of irony.

 ‘So, what are
we
going to do?’ asked Ray on behalf of himself, Dawber and Slick when Stiles briefly explained the situation.  ‘We want to help too.’

‘There is one more piece of unfinished business that you are all uniquely qualified to deal with,’ said Hecaté smiling.

‘The Agency,’ said Stiles.

‘What do you want us to do?’ asked Ray – spokesperson.  ‘Burn it down?’

‘Not at all,’ said Hecaté. ‘Just the opposite, in fact. Since The Director abandoned it, the Agency has been in disarray.
He
will not be returning. I have a personal guarantee of that. But the Agency itself, although founded on faulty principles, has a place in the work we do. I have no doubt that much good will come of such an institution in the future if it is run well by a good man.’ She manifested a broom and handed it to Dawber. ‘Go clean house – Mr. Director,’ she said.  

Dawber looked at the broom in bewilderment. ‘Me?’ he said incredulously. 

‘Yes you,’ she said firmly. ‘You are the one. You have suffered much abuse at the hands of the Agency I know. Who better then, to know what changes must be wrought within its management?’

‘I don’t think I’m ready for this,’ he said.

‘No? If you thought you were ready, then you most certainly would not be. You will undoubtedly not make the same mistakes that the last Director made. Mistakes of arrogance and pride.’

‘But I
will
make mistakes.’ Dawber insisted.

Hecaté laid a hand on his shoulder. ‘You have a fortunate habit of making the right decisions, you came here, did you not? Any mistakes you do make will be with the right intentions and, despite what some people think, that counts for a lot.  Do not treat people as cattle, as he did, but as equals with more to contribute than their unthinking obedience and you will create a bond of loyalty that will see you through the worst mistakes you could possibly make.  For people who love and respect you will forgive you anything and will be there to help you when you stumble. I know you can do that. I see into the very souls of men. You are a good man, with strong principles and a sense of justice. Why do you think Tamar chose you to help her?’

‘I’ve never been in charge, though,’ said Dawber. ‘I don’t know whether I can be a leader. Maybe Ray …’

‘Nothing doing,’ said Ray decidedly.  ‘I’d much rather it was you. I’m happy with my computer. For what it’s worth, I reckon you’d make a good leader. You stood up to the Director, didn’t you? And people
like
you.
I
don’t know you very well, but I’ve seen you about the place, you always seem to have a little coterie of friends hanging on your every word. Besides, you’ve got the walk.’

‘The walk?’ said Dawber puzzled.

‘Yeah, you know the long confident stride, head up, shoulders back – the “I can do anything” walk. You get the walk right, and you’re halfway there.’

Hecaté laughed. ‘Your friend is right,’ she said. ‘Walk tall and confident – believe in yourself, and you can accomplish miracles.’

‘I’ll back you up,’ said Ray. ‘If
she
believes in you, who am I to argue?’

‘Good,’ said Hecaté. ‘Now, we must be off, we have much to do. Jack?’

Stiles gave them the benefit of one of his shark-like grins. ‘Wanna see something cool?’ he said, slipping on the gauntlet. 

The three agency men watched in awe as the gauntlet spread out its glowing tendrils up Stiles’s arm and into his nervous system.

‘That
is
cool,’ gasped Ray. ‘Look, his eyes are glowing.’

Dawber nodded. ‘Pretty cool,’ he agreed distractedly. He was too busy worrying about his new responsibilities. 

There was a flash and Stiles and Hecaté vanished. ‘Good luck,’ the words came sighing over the wind. 

‘Good luck to you too,’ said Dawber to the empty air. He turned to face his new employees. ‘Well,’ he said, rattling his car keys. ‘Let’s get on with it then.’

Slick had said nothing throughout the entire exchange; he just stared broodingly into the distance as if he were miles away, in spirit if not in body. 

So once again, Finvarra and the boys were left alone in the deserted house. 

Time had caught up with itself, and it was as Denny had predicted. Apart from the one file they had altered, it was as if nothing had happened.

* * *

‘How, could anyone have missed this thing?’ said Stiles in his ordinary voice.  The summoning stone was forty feet high and covered in intricate patterns that, according to Hecaté, depicted all the Tuatha, by name and visage. They did not look like anything recognisable to Stiles, but at the back of his mind, Leir knew them all. It was a weird feeling. Whenever he put on the gauntlet, he was, quite literally, in two minds about everything. 

He relaxed his own mind and let the consciousness of Leir take over. Stiles would not know a summoning from a stakeout. He supposed, however, that in a way, this was both. 

‘Who said it had been missed?’ said Hecaté.

‘Well, it’s at least as impressive as Stone-Henge, and
I’ve
never heard of it.’

‘It cannot be seen by mortal eyes.’ He answered his own question in a different voice. Then he closed his eyes. ‘Enough with the silly questions,’ he told himself. ‘I must summon my erring brethren. Shall I stand by and allow them to follow evil? They are my people.’

Hecaté faded into the grass.

The stone stood alone on a plain grassy hilltop. Had anyone but the sheep been around to see it, a strange sight would have shortly been witnessed on that exposed spot.  First one, then another, then many human figures. Men women, old and young appeared as if from nowhere to gather around the stone.  Some appeared in a flash of light, some faded in gently some just appeared to be there, where they had not been a second before.

Witches, wizards, sorcerers, sorceresses, necromancers, spellcasters of all styles and varieties.But all human in origin.

Hecaté stepped into sight. ‘Loki is defeated,’ she began without preamble. ‘I have seen, with my own eyes, him chained hand and foot and thrown down at the feet of Odin in ignoble defeat. Let go your earthly bonds, release these vessels and I will spare you.  If not …’ And she seemed to grow, ten, twenty, thirty, forty feet. And a great light shone out from her.  Stiles fell backwards and shielded his eyes. He had never seen her do
this
before. ‘I will destroy you,’ she thundered. 

For years, although Stiles had known that technically he was married to a goddess, he had never truly understood what that really meant.  Hecaté rarely used her powers even in a small way. She had been diffident and modest. She had shielded the true light of her power, hidden it from the world and him under a skilfully woven cloak of obscurity and shadows.

 And, wilfully blind, he had fallen into the trap of regarding her almost as an ordinary woman. He suspected now, that only Tamar had been aware of who and what Hecaté really was.

Knowing something and seeing it – 
feeling
it, are quite different things.  He realised with a shock that he had never
wanted
to see this. It had always been there had he cared to look. He had accepted the picture of herself that she had shown him and never understood that it was out of her love for him that she had curbed herself. It had been a flawless deception

Now, her power was revealed. Quite literally blazed forth, and he could see it and feel it, he knew he would never see her in quite the same way again. 

For one thing, she was utterly terrifying. 

The Tuatha clearly thought so too. They quailed and shivered under the blast of her scornful gaze.

‘I’ll never smoke in the house again,’ thought Stiles. A habit that he knew Hecaté deplored, was his fixation on large fragrant cigars.  He really wanted one right now – or, failing that, a large scotch. 

A collective sigh went up from the assembled Tuatha, and Stiles, with his enhanced sight, could just faintly discern, like faint wisps of smoke, the souls of the Tuatha rising from the bodies of the magical community.  They had capitulated.  

Hecaté addressed the bewildered former hosts. ‘Brothers and sisters,’ she said, and as one, they all fell on their knees, not in fear, but in reverence. 

‘Rise, my beloved ones,’ she said, and there was a world of love in her voice, all encompassing and unending love for all her charges, faithful and enduring. 

‘No wonder they worship her,’ Stiles thought. ‘They are her children.’ 

‘You have been shamefully abused, my beloved ones,’ said Hecaté. ‘It shall never happen again.’ She pointed to the stone. ‘Destroy the stone,’ she told them. 

She had said she would spare them, but now the Tuatha were betrayed.

The part of Stiles that was Leir knew that the stone was the Tuatha’s link to the world, that to destroy it was to destroy them. She had lied to them.

‘No, he cried out. ‘Have mercy. They are harmless now, mere spirits.’

Hecaté turned cold eyes, not on Stiles, but on Leir, who had been the one to speak. ‘No mercy,’ she said. ‘Did they show mercy to my brothers and sisters?’ she asked. ‘They will not have the chance to abuse them again.’

And Stiles realised that he was dealing with the goddess not the wife that he knew –
thought
he knew. He looked up into her eyes, cold and unrelenting, yet burning with righteous fury. But they were her eyes, strange and yet familiar.  Was this his gentle wife or was it a wrathful goddess? She had shamelessly betrayed her word – had never intended to keep it. It was hard to reconcile this action with the woman he had lived with for – how long now, five years, six?  He could not think straight.

She had cleaved to him and lived according to his rules, humanity’s rules. But this part of her, the goddess, had no rules. Deities followed no rules. They were supreme, absolute, merciless. He had imposed his values on her, without ever thinking about it, without ever realising that she might have a different set of values.  And she had accepted it. But it had never really been who she was. 

And he still loved her. Perhaps more than he had ever done.  For him, she had done this. Had lived with torn loyalties and a heart divided between her charges and her love for him. Well, no more. If he loved her, and he knew he did, he was going to have to accept her for who she really was.  He was not half her equal. He did not deserve her – he never had, and he knew that now.

‘But I can try,’ he decided.

He fell on his knees before her and bowed his head.  Then looked up tentatively into her startled eyes.

‘Jack…?’ she faltered. And she shrank down to meet him.

‘I love you,’ he told her. ‘Let it be.’ And saw her eyes, her familiar eyes, now back on a level with his own, fill with tears. 

The stone, under the combined blasts of various magic spells, crumbled and fell with a loud crash, and the witches etc dispersed silently leaving Stiles and Hecaté alone on a barren hilltop among the rubble of a ruined civilisation. 

It was, he thought, an appropriate place for a new start. 

~ Chapter Twenty Two ~

A
lthough the defection of Cindy had cast a blight over their victory, Tamar nevertheless decreed that this time, they owed themselves a celebration. 

‘A party,’ she decided. ‘A
private
party,’ she added. ‘You remember what happened last time?’

‘But no one knows about it this time anyway,’ said Denny. 

‘Just typical,’ she said, ‘considering that it was
you
who really saved the day this time.’