He woke for no particular reason.
The birds weren't chirping any more than usual, his alarm clock didn't go off, his mother wasn't stumbling up the stairs drunk again, and he wasn't sensing any danger.
He was just awake.
Too many thoughts, was the only reason he could come up with. Not enough explanations.
As always, his thoughts circled back to the origin of his most recent troubles: Chase.
Chase and his power, Chase and his using, Chase and his father…and Caleb's father. All their fathers.
There was no way they hadn't known the fifth line was still active.
No way they hadn't felt Chase's father's using, not if what Chase had said was true, if his father had truly been dying from Using.
It just didn't make sense, not to him.
"Godamnit," he breathed, giving up on sleep for the night as he tossed his covers back and grabbed his pants off the floor. If he couldn't sleep he might as well do something useful.
The books at the old Homestead needed looking after. Gorman had promised to get around to it, but the old Keeper was arthritic and it hurt his fingers to do the delicate work that needed doing.
He checked on his mother, finding her asleep peacefully in bed. He methodically checked to make sure her cigarette was out and carefully placed a glass of water and two aspirin within easy reach before slipping soundlessly from the room.
Reaching the garage he was tempted – sorely tempted – for one long moment to not even bother with the Mustang. He had the power to go from place to place at will, why shouldn't he use it?
Cause it'll kill me, he reminded himself, shaking his head and smiling a grim sort of smile.
The Power was becoming almost an entity unto itself, lately. A siren calling him in every day moments.
But Caleb was the by product of two people who had no control against their temptations – his father was now dead and his mother spent half her nights passed out in a puddle of her own drool in front of the fireplace. He may share their genes, but like hell was he sharing their fate.
The drive to the homestead was quiet and he kept the top down, enjoying the warm breeze. Winter would be here soon, but so far the fall had been pleasantly mild. Having grown up in Massachusetts, he knew how harsh the winters of New England could get, so he was set to enjoy ever last warm breeze until they disappeared for the winter.
Gorman was in the Keeper's cabin outside the homestead and Caleb knew he could feel him as he crossed the ward threshold, but his familiar energy would hardly disturb the older man, he was so used to Caleb's comings and going by now.
The candles lit with no power from him – it was a useful spell set up by an ancestor centuries ago that never needed recasting and always ensured a warm fire whenever the Covenant made it's way down to the stone-cold basement.
The books lay in haphazard piles, a direct result of the current Covenant not really caring for them and the older Covenant not really bothering with them. Collectively speaking, aside from keeping the secret of the Covenant, most of its members were less than stellar individuals. His father had been a selfish dick, Reid's father was a notorious womanizer, Pogue's liked to beat on people, and Tyler's…
Tyler's father wasn't an asshole like the rest of theirs. He was just…blank. Routine.
Boring.
But Baby Boy loved his father and the rest of them liked to spend more time with Mr. Simms than any of the others.
And Simms was the oldest of the Elder line, so maybe…maybe he would explain about Chase if Caleb asked.
"Doubtful," Caleb answered his own question as he let his fingers run over the spine of one of the older books. It had survived the journey from the older world with minor water damage and had several centuries accrued that could be added to the three or so it had spent in the Homestead.
Lore held that it had been penned by monks in mystical Avalon, a true relic of the pagan ways.
There were dark spells speaking of sacrifice within its pages.
The first time Caleb had read it, he'd been eleven and completely horrified by the details within its pages.
Human sacrifice, sex magics, animal mutilation…he'd been so sick he vowed he would break the Covenant right then and there – he would never get his powers.
But the time came and so did his powers and when the urge to kill somebody or slice into an animal never arose, Caleb decided his powers weren't all that bad and forgot about the whole affair.
Aiseirigh Annwfn*, Caleb fingered the inscription on the outside of the book. Mr. Simms had called it the title, but Gorman had told him long ago that it was simply an inscription.
"This book is too old to have a name," Gorman had commented, his eyes wary as they rested on the once snow white volume.
Caleb's fingers hesitated before grasping the front cover and opening to the first page, his breath escaping in a breathy, disappointed chuckle as soon as he recognized the script.
"Gaelic," he muttered, running his fingers over the carefully transcribed writing. The ink glistened even now, almost hypnotic in the dim light.
Caleb moved to turn away, but his curiosity had him flipping through the pages, mindful of the books age, but curious of its contents.
Some pages had script only, others had colorful, carefully drawn pictures. And still others shimmered with the magic of spells long ago cast.
Caleb's fingers hesitated on those pages, his powers clamoring within him, itching for him to do something, but he shook the feeling off each time before moving onto the next page.
The book was thick, well over a thousand pages, and Caleb had other things he wanted to do, but still, he continued to flip idly through the book until his breath stopped in his lungs.
There was a picture, a half turned maiden with long red hair, a pert nose tilted up towards the sky, her hands raised, a sword resting on her palms as she offered it up to someone.
It was hard for him to decide which was more appealing – the woman or the sword. On the one hand, the sword seemed to be almost alive, the metal gleaming in the firelight, calling to him with an almost real voice.
Come, it seemed to whisper inside his skull. Summon me.
Caleb swallowed, dry mouthed as he purposely switched his gaze to the woman.
He remembered the one and only piece of advice his father had ever given him.
"Never Summon anything," William James Danvers had told his then eight year old son, his expression, usually so haughty and composed, tense and nervous as he gazed down at Caleb. "Ever. It will never turn out well for you, that I can promise."
So Caleb kept his eyes on the woman, no hard task since she was gloriously naked.
She had beautifully perky breasts, the kind that drew a man's attention, but she also had a slender neck, worthy of a queen, and an expression in her eyes that almost dared you to test her.
Try me, they whispered. Cross blades with me and we'll see who wins…we'll see.
She wasn't necessarily beautiful with her stubborn chin and the faint freckles that seemed to be brushing across her nose, over her shoulders. Her body was bare and dirty, with leaves tangled in her hair and earth covering her feet. But she was striking and attention grabbing and without thinking Caleb brushed a finger over her cheek.
His finger lifted from the page, drifting towards the next when a small footnote at the bottom of the page caught his attention.
It was strange, too, because though the book appeared to be written in Gaelic, the note was written in English.
"A sword of stone, a king reborn, a lady guard, and a foe to slay. Only he with the Power may read these words and know. Resurrection, Redemption, Struggle, and Death." The last word fell from his lips with a hiss as he felt an electric tingle travel up his spine that had his breath escaping in a sudden whoosh, his lungs seizing as he struggled to regain that breath.
For a moment his heart stuttered out of beat, one long second passed and then another and then he was sucking in oxygen, bringing a hand to rub against the pain of his chest, his gaze falling back to the book, causing his heart to stutter for a completely different reason as the world suddenly started to swim around him.
Where moments before the woman with the sword had stood against the page, there was only parchment.
"Shit," Caleb managed to wheeze right before his eyes rolled up into his head and he went tumbling to the ground.
Waking up naked in a field was a horrible way to begin your day…or century.
Or any moment in time, really, unless there was a man involved.
Aisling pushed up off the dirt, sword in hand as she placed both hands on her hips and studied her surroundings carefully.
There was an old house in front of her, a small cabin behind it, trees, and not a soul in sight.
And she was naked.
"Right," she decided with a firm nod, tilting her chin back as she fixated on the house. "Clothes first, then food, and then the Chosen."
The sword grumbled at her and she squeezed tightly on its hilt in reply.
"Remember," she lectured with no small amount of annoyance. "We're stuck with each other until we find him. And since you don't have legs and I do, we do this my way. Got it?"
The sword grumbled again, but meekly and without any real heat as she turned her attention once more to the house.
"Let's just hope we can find some clothes," she stated on a sigh. "I don't fancy walking around town naked again. That's what got us back in the book last time."
The sword snickered and Aisling cracked a quick grin.
"You're right – the expression on the Reverends face was well worth it. And getting him to swear like that?" Aisling shook her head with a smile before repeating, "Well worth it."
Translations:
*Resurrection of Avalon
A/N: St. Patrick's day, I was bored. 'Nuff said.
Just an idle idea of what happens when you combine the Legend of King Arthur with the Covenant.
I kind of like it and it's only my second Covenant story...I may finish it someday. Maybe.