In an office building on the island of Malta a man named Gabriel is being informed that there are some people downstairs who wish to see him. He asks for them to be sent away but they will apparently not take no for an answer. He wonders idly to himself what he's done to deserve this sort of treatment. Hadn't he turned his Order around 180 degrees in his tenure as Heirophant-General of the Knights of Byzantium. Under the old regime they'd worn chainmail for goodness' sake, who used chainmail after the fourteenth century. He'd done away with all that bumph. Swords out, pens in. He could do more to thwart the plans of the forces of darkness with one well placed 'phone call than his predecessors had managed with a thousand men weighed down by steel. Of course at times there was need for more... strenuous methods, but that's what the black ops unit was for. He'd even tried to get official passports like the Knights of St John had [1], but no such luck.
The door opens, and a man and two women walk in. In most offices people looking like this lot - one looking like he'd been living on the streets for three years, another under a heavy and misshapen black cloak and the third glancing about inquisitively with an almost beautific look on her face - would have been cause for confusion. Gabriel, however, was quite accustomed to such visitations. He pours himself a glass of water from the jug on his desk and sips at it cooly as he watches them enter. He pauses a moment and then speaks
"Demons then? I suggest you leave or be dealt with. Do you really think we're that easy to assault?"
The quiet woman, the one who looks about like a child, laughs. It is a gentle laugh, a beautiful chiming laugh, as of an Angel watching the follies of men with some amusement. On Gabriel's desk the jug of water blossoms into red-brown.
"Who are you?"
"The future" says the figure beneath the cloak, in a voice like the rushing of wind and falling of stars
"Your future" continues the ragged, eyeless one. "And your past."
"Is riddling back in fashion in Hell then?"
"No riddles." the voice from beneath the cloak is like the march of armies and the death of mountains
"And we are not from Hell." continues the ragged man
"Then where?"
And in answer there is light.
The soldier and the witch wake to a crisp and bracing dawn. The witch fries bacon for three, cutting one serving up into small managable pieces. The soldier, meanwhile, rummages through the cupboards in search of something
"You got any coffee? I can't start my day without a cup these days."
"There's some Gold Blend in the one on your left."
"Some what?"
"Taster's Choice, it's what they call it over here."
"Anything that isn't freeze dried?"
"No. Sorry. The smell of coffee brewing upsets Giles, I'm not sure why. I think he associates it with Sunnydale. The Espresso Pump and all"
"So what are we doing today?"
"A girl from my local wicca group is coming by to keep an eye on Giles. We're going to see the Coven"
"Are they on our side?"
"That's what I want to find out"
"Hang on. You've got a local wicca group?"
"They do have witches in England."
"No, I mean, why aren't you asking them to..."
"To join with the ultimate evil and get themselves killed in an attempt to save the world? I don't know maybe I'm just selfish enough to want to keep their blood off my hands"
"So... this girl...?"
"Is all of twenty years old and I would be a bad, bad woman for even thinking about it."
"You should have somebody."
"Of my last five girlfriends one died in my arms, one died as a direct result of my actions two left me because they couldn't handle the danger and one left because the thought I spent too much time with Giles. It's the Curse of Sunnydale High, we don't get to have normal relationships"
"I broke the curse, so did Xa... Alex."
"You only went to SDH for a few months so the curse didn't take. Alex had his share of troubles. More than his share."
At this point the doorbell rings.
"That'll be Sarah"
"The girl?"
"The girl"
It is, indeed Sarah. She is a terribly sincere looking young lady dressed in earth tones. Her manner switches between bubbly and buisinesslike seemingly at random. Her accent is the same upper crust home counties patois which seemed to have been a prerequisite for admission to the old Watcher's Council.
"H'lo Miss R. Sorry I'm early but you know how it is, you get so used to underestimating how long it'll take you to get places that you wind up overestimating the amount you usually underestimate by and being early for everything..." she laughs, slightly self-conciously.
"Thanks for doing this Sarah."
"Oh no problem. Used to do the same for my old gran until she passed on last year. Besides Ruper's a sweetie really."
"You'll be okay all day on your own?"
"Oh absolutely. I've got an article on the relevance of Gardenerian philosophy to modern day Paganism to write for the newsletter."
"Oh good. Well you know where everything is. Help yourself to food and tea and everything. You've still got an account on my computer if you want to use it for anything"
"Will do Miss R. Incidentally have you thought about getting a new computer at all, because nobody uses Apple these days."
"I'll stay with what I know, I think. You get like that at my age"
"Age is relative Miss R, always said so."
"Maybe. Oh what am I... Sarah, this is Dawn Charteris, an old friend of mine from America, Dawn this is Sarah Parris from my wicca group."
Hellos are exchanged between the two, and then the witch and the soldier leave the house and head off in the direction of public transport. It is a good few moments before the soldier breaks the silence.
"She so wants you"
"Please. I'm more than twice her age."
"Exactly. Experienced older woman, sexy mid-atlantic accent, able to shoot lightning out her fingertips..."
"She dosn't even call me by my first name."
"Because people are never awkward around people they like..."
"She calls me Miss R, she sounds like an English Fonzie."
"Sure, if the Fonz wanted to jump Mrs Cunningham's bones."
"Please don't I've read the slash fic"
"What... no don't tell me I really don't want to know"
"Let's just say I could never hear him say 'Heeyyy' again"
"Eww. Eww eww eww. She still wants you 'though..."
In Malta, a man named Gabriel lies on the floor and weeps for joy. His tattoo, the mark of the Knights of Byzantium, burns with a pure white fire. His visitors have gone, leaving only the certainty of the mission. His patrons, meanwhile, have moved on to their next target.
An early train to Westbury. The Witch and the Soldier talk sotto vocce so as to avoid the worst of the disapproving looks.
"So what do you think the Coven will say?"
"I don't know. Witches have always been... standing between if you know what I mean. Practicing the black arts for high purpose. But this time. This time they may say I've gone too far."
"It's saving the world. They can't object to us saving the world."
"I hope so." There is silence for some while and then. "Trains are magic, you know that?"
"You mean they seem magic or they are magic - like the Hogwarts express or something."
"Are. You step in at one end, and a whirl of sights and sounds go past, and you step out somewhere totally different with no real idea how you got there."
"So you mean they feel magic."
"Feels. Is. Where magics involved it's not always easy to tell the difference."
"What are you talking about?"
"Just makin' conversation."
"Can we go back to talking about girls?"
"No."
The train speeds on, telegraph poles and trees in equal number flashing past the window. Periodically people elsewhere in the carriage will find it absolutely impossible to go another moment without informing their wives and coworkers of their presently train-bound status. The witch and the soldier talk of nothing. Presently the train arrives at Westbury.
"Now this is what England is supposed to look like"
"Giles always had a fondness for it. Not many places like it left now."
The two proceed on foot over the kinds of rolling pasture that you normally see only in postcards and paintings. They clamber across stiles, cheerfully ignore signs saying "Beware of the Bull" and sit by dry stone walls to rest. You could, if you allowed yourself, quite forget in a place like this that the world was soon to be rent by the war to end all wars. As they cross their twelfth stile, and the sense of calm and tranquility begins to give way to frustration and muddiness, they espy an old woman waiting by a gate. The witch approaches.
"Elder" she half nods, half curtseys.
"Child" for she is old enough still to be the witches mother.Her voiceis softand almost melodious, albeit edged with age.
"You know why I'm here." And the tone is caught midway between statement and question.
"We know what you propose."
"And?"
"And we council you against such action."
"It's our only hope."
"There is always hope, child."
"If the world ends?"
"Even then. Perhaps."
"What?" interjects the soldier. "If the world ends then that's it."
"No child." and the Elder stops for a moment, and looks at the soldier ascance "or whatever you are. No if the world ends that will be far from 'it'"
"You don't mean..." the witch trails off as things become clear.
"I do mean, child. I mean most wholeheartedly. No pain, no fear, no doubt. A world without suffering, without death or sadness. A world bathed in light and joy. Think on it."
"And all the people who will die? What about all the things that don't fit in with a world of light and joy? Do those just get rubbed out?"
"Sacrifice child. Sacrifice. And really what is the alternative? To strike a pact with darkness? To embrace evil, no matter how high your purpose, is folly."
"So this is it. You've chosen sides." Again not quite a statement, not quite a question.
"As have you. But it is not too late for you child. Not quite yet at any rate. You listened to us once, will you not do so again?"
"No. I can't. I don't have the right to decide that it's time for some new age of light and glory."
"Nor do you have the right to decide that it is not, and yet you place yourself in the hands of the one who lies with truth. I am truly sorry child, but it seems you really would have been better had we killed you when first you came to us."
"So..." the soldier begins "what now?"
"That's kind of up to the Elder." The witch turns to her old teacher. "You know I'm stronger than you. Probably stronger than all of you."
"Not here child. Not in our place of power."
"Do you want to risk the fight?"
"Have you really fallen so far child? We still will not defile this ground with blood. Particularly that of one who was once dear to us, and one who came on peaceful terms."
"Then we may go."
"You may go unmolested. Should you return you will find quite another welcome."
"I never thanked you enough for everything you did for me when I came here, I don't think I ever could. Goodbye. You know of course that if we ever meet again..."
"Only one will walk away. Count on it."
And so the two depart, somewhat more dispirited, and considerably muddier. They prroceed in silence until they are back on the train
"Okay, that was weird"
"What was weird?"
"You, and her and the 'You understand... Yes of course...' you witches are really scary people."
"The Elder and I know better than to try to change each other's minds, and if we are to be enemies then we are both resigned to that."
"You've started talking like her too."
"She meant a lot to me. Still means a lot to me."
"So what now?"
"We go home, we go to bed, and then we go to Istanbul."
"You're kidding, right..." Silence. "...you're not kidding."
[1] Interesting piece of Trivia. The Knights of Saint John of Malta do in fact have their own passports. How cool is that.