In a small town in france there is an unremarkable front door. On the other side of that door there are three elements which would stand out should some curious individual bother to step inside. The first thing they would notice would be the paintings. Portraits all although some are more abstract than others (or depict people who are in fact composed entirely of right angles and cylinders which, in a world bordered by unlimited esoteric demon-dimensions, cannot be entirely ruled out). The last thing they would notice would be the young man who, you could correctly surmise, painted the various portraits and who is even now seated at an easel and quietly drawing a painting of a woman in her late forties whose hands spill green light. He is of unparalelled beauty, to look upon him once is to die happy. Which goes some what to explain why he is the last thing people notice in the house, and why the second is a dead man lying on the floor of his studio with a look of absolute rapture frozen to his face. The man sits at his canvas, a picture of relaxation which is unaltered by the sudden appearance from some previously unseen locale of three unlikely individuals. He smiles a smile that breaks hearts and minds as he turns to greet them.
"My esteemed siblings. Welcome, welcome a thousand times welcome to... bugger me what's she doing here?" so saying he indicates the misshapen cloaked figure.
"What. Pray. Do you mean by that?" asks the figure in a voice like the fall of empires and the loss of innocence
"What I mean is why have I been called last amongst our company? Voice-of-Skies I demand an
explanation for this, this... outrage. What possessed you to go to this harridan before me?"
The woman who has never spoken in living memory sighs inaudibly, raises an eyebrow, and makes the "wanker" sign[1]
"I see. Always been known for your plain speaking haven't you Voice-of-Skies."
If looks could kill, and were he mortal, and not far better at the "killing with a glance" game than she was, then the man of exquisite beauty would be cut down in his prime by the look Voice-of-Skies now sent winging in his general direction.
"If we can stop bickering for twelve seconds" interjects the eyeless man. "I would remind you that we have a war to start and to win. We have already made our cause known to the Knights of Byzantium and the English witches. The number of players in this game is smaller than once it was and..."
"Hold on. Not only did you leave me until last in this little matter but you also went and spoke to people without me? You know that people are my
favorite part..."
"Shut up. They key seems to have declared against us and this is unfortunate. Further she has allied herself with a sorceress of immense power. This really could go against us in the final reckoning and that my brother, my sisters, is not to be countenanced."
"I really don't understand why the Last is bothering. I mean surely his name is a dead giveaway. He's going to lose this one and there is nothing but nothing but nothing he can do about it."
"You've really never heard of tempting fate have you."
"My good man, I tempt everything it's rather in my nature I'm afraid."
"It is bothering because somebody thought it would be a good idea for nothing to be set in stone, and so It can get out of Its inevitable destruction if It plays Its cards right."
"So what do we do now? If you're planning on telling me at all that is."
The answer comes from within the misshapen cloak, in a voice like the drowning of cities. "We up the ante."
It is a mere day after the meeting in Westbury, but the witch and the soldier are well enough used to travel. Never the less there has been an awful lot of dashing about in recent days and it is beginning to tell. It is perhaps natural then that the two should take the journey to Istanbul as an opportunity to catch up on some much needed sleep. And so it is that the witch comes to find herself on a mountain peak overlooking what she knows in that irrational way to be all of the kingdoms of the world, although it kind of looks like a big desert. There are four people standing with her.
"And all of this will I give to you, if you will but bow down and worship me..." begins the first, a man tall and slender and wearing what appears to be full mourning including a heavy veil.
"Or was it Helen of Troy?" asks the second, ragged and eyeless. "Your soul for one kiss is a heavy price."
"There are those who've given more for less." The witch defiant more out of habit than anything else.
"You were bought." says the third, in a voice like a forest fire.
"And we'd rather like to know what It gave you" continues the first.
"A choice"
"Oh for goodness sake. Please don't tell me you're trying to be noble about this. You are siding with darkness don't forget." The man in the veil sounds almost
petulant
"Are there no primal powers out there with even a hint of gravitas? That is what you four are, right, primal powers. The forces of good and light and justice here to scourge this sorry world back to the bedrock."
At this the lady who has never spoken, who has been called Voice-of-Skies amongst other names laughs like a school bell on the last day of term, and the sky bleeds.
"You have the right of it" replies the eyeless man. "We are indeed as you say. But will you not listen to our side of the story?"
"This world is full of so much suffering? Heard it. Said it in fact."
"Nothing nearly so simple." the voice from beneath the cloak is as the drawing of a sword in anger. "This world began in darkness. It moves ever towards light. We are but the next step on a path that is right and just."
"To put it another way" comes the voice from behind the veil "Your rather unsavory
little monkey race is to us and the things we herald what you are to the Demons. We are the future, and the future is beautiful if only you would see it. And if you don't see it, well then I'm rather afraid that you will go the way of so many others"
"But you could see it" they eyeless man smiles as he speaks. "You could see the light in all of its glory"
"Let all your sins be burned and purged away" and the voice is like a dozen declarations of war.
At this, Voice-of-Skies steps forwards and, like a priest administering some unorthodox
blessing, takes the witch's head gently in her hands and kisses her eyes.
The change in the witch is immediate and dramatic. Her eyes cloud over black, her hair swiftly follows suit, a wind rises and Voice-of-Skies steps back wearing a faint look of shock. When the witch speaks her voice is measured and restrained, like one whose mind is bent entirely on some great effort of will.
"My sin" she begins "is part of who I am. I can't be forgiven, can't be absolved. What I have done I would do over. I have no place in your world. You have no place in mine."
"Insolence. Foolishness. Why do you oppose us when we would make of your world a paradise?"
"Heaven is for the stars and the dead. Let it stay where it belongs"
"It is so like your kind to fear the unknown and the unfamiliar." the voice behind the veil more
petulant than ever "Fine then, take your choices and be damned. 'Tis a pity..."
And with that the four are gone, the pinnacle crumbles and the witch is cast into darkness.
The dreams of the soldier at this time were equally troubled, but with the concerns of the past rather than the present. She is no stranger to such dreamscapes, and our present narrative will not be served by dwelling on the details of her subconcious theatre. Suffice to say that her dreams concern past affairs, lost children and the nature of doors.
In a chapter house in Istanbul seven members of the Knights of Byzantium are organizing what could be euphemistically described as a welcome wagon. It would be more accurate and more honest to describe it as a conspiracy to commit assault with a deadly weapon. A number of deadly weapons. They used knives these days, nasty brutal efficient things. Swords were more stylish and held certain associations of righteousness which served the knightly image but when you got right down to it they weren't what you wanted to take somebody out in a modern city and get away with it.
Not all of the old guard have been entirely comfortable with the new direction the order has taken. There are those who feel that the order has lost its way since the power of the Beast was broken in spite of the failure of their brethren to destroy the Key. Several such traditionalists are to be found in what is still called the Constantinople Chapter. And they have found, in recent days, a voice.
The witch and the soldier disembark. They have both slept but fitfully and are not at their best.
"I've just noticed something"
"Hmm?"
"You didn't tell me what we're doing here."
"You came didn't you."
"You're a hard woman to ignore."
Silence reigns. They walk further into the city. The witch seems to know where she's going, although the soldier would swear she'd never been here before.
"You haven't answered me."
"No. I haven't."
"Why not?"
"Because I've got used to being alone except for people who won't say a word against me."
"Oh."
"Sorry. It's just... y'know... old habits."
"You really remind me of big sis sometimes."
"Good remind or bad remind?"
"Little of both. Like the way you... are about to be jumped on by seven guys with knives..."
The two, who have by now wandered into an older and more out of the way part of the city are indeed about to be jumped on by seven men with knives. They wear black despite the heat and bear the mark of the Knights of Byzantium. The witch and the soldier shift instinctively into "about to get attacked by superior numbers" formation, back to back and sorely wishing for some armaments.
"Can you take them?" whispers the soldier urgently over her shoulder
"Yes, but I don't want to go all black eyes if I can help it"
The knights circle, looking for an opening.
"Define 'help it'"
"They can cut me to ribbons, not you"
"Umm... thanks?"
The knights move inwards and then, at some signal only they can see, four break formation and fall on the other three. The fight, one side having both numbers and surprise on their side is both short and brutal.
"What the..?"
One of the surviving Knights turns to the witch and the solder "They were heretics. Departed from the true way. We serve our last true general and he tells us you are not to be molested. He tells us you have a part to play. He tells us that the Key and its allies are no longer a threat, now the power of the Beast is broken."
"Oh. Well that's... good"
The knight pauses, inclines his head as if listening to something. "There is a matter I must attend to." He turns to his fellows. "Come". So saying, they depart, leaving the witch and the soldier quite alone.
"So... what got into them?"
As if from nowhere a large, bald man in chain mail bearing the mark of the Knights of Byzantium appears. "That's easy. I did."
"What did you do?" asks the soldier, a note of uncertainty or even anger in her voice.
"What I do. I turned them against one another, told them nothing they did not after a sense know already and played off their frailties and their weaknesses. Much like my predecessor failed so spectacularly to do with you"
"So you tricked a group of holy men into believing that God's will was yours and set them at one another's throats."
"In a word. Yes. Perhaps I should take this opportunity to remind you that I am the embodiment of all evil."
"I know." She sounds quite defeated. "And you did save our lives so... thanks"
"Mrs. Charteris, your thoughts betray you. But surely you know that."
"I won't pretend I like this situation."
"No, you're pretending you can tolerate it. You could change sides you know. It may make you feel better."
"Why are you trying to talk me into turning against you?"
"Force of habit I think. exhortations to treachery are rather my raison d'etre. Of course it could be part of my master plan." and with that the Last disappears.
"Having second thoughts?"
"It's just... actually seeing what It did to those people. It can't be right."
"Have you seen what it's fighting against?"
"No."
"I have. They came to me. They're worse. Far worse. They're... they're destruction"
"Is that worse than corruption?"
"At least people get a choice."
The pair proceed in silence down diverse twisting streets and alleys. Finally they come to the place the witch appears to have been leading them all along. It is a small ramshackle building, a front door half off its hinges is shaded by a tattered awning that was probably red once. The witch pushes the door open and steps inside, the soldier following her and trying to suppress the all too familiar feeling of being the out-of-the-loop sidekick. Inside a man sits cross legged on the floor. He has changed almost beyond recognition since the witch saw him last. His head is shaved, his face as passive as ever, but now he seems tranquil where he was once just laid back. He still, the witch notes, wears the same beaded charm around his left hand as when last they met. He looks up at the pair from the shadows as they walk in.
"Hey." he says, untroubled, unperturbed, unflustered.
"Hey. Been looking for you."
"Been waiting. When'd you get into town?"
"Around about now."
[1] For the American audience, remember in Hush when Buffy is trying to communicate "Can I kill the Gentlemen with a Stake?". That gesture.