A MONTH EARLIER….
Something odd was taking place in the seaside community of Lochinver.
Despite its quaint atmosphere, Lochinver was one of the largest coastal ports in Western Scotland and was more than accustomed to having its share of visitors during the year. Once upon a time, the town's principle means of support had been its fishing industry but in recent times, this traditional vocation had been supplanted for a newer thought equally feckless trade. Tourism. Visitors with busy lives in bustling metropolises flocked to Lochinver during the summers, turning the quiet fishing town into a model of commercial opportunism.
It had all happened rather suddenly. A visitor had come, admired the sites and most likely returned home to whatever city he had hailed from, most likely London and Manchester, spreading the word about the beauty of the Scottish coast. Certainly, Lochinver had a great deal to recommend it. Surrounded by the magnificent Canisp Mountains in the distance and the Suilven closer to home, Lochinver offered travelers panoramic views and a taste of that most elusive of things, timeless beauty. There was nothing slick or patented in the countryside, no attraction that was put there for the benefit of visitors. The seals, the puffins and the whales that made their yearly visits had done so for hundreds of years and would most likely continue to do so when Lochinver's brush with the tourist trade had subsided.
The people of Lochinver had become accustomed to the strangers that suddenly flooded their community. The tourists arriving in their cars and buses moved through the quiet town like a whirlwind seeking desperately the elusive spark of holiday magic that would make the rest of the year somewhat tolerable. Some went away with a small understanding of the people and the history of town they had briefly invaded, most however, did not. The majority of tourists departing the community did so with a snapshots of a preconceived ideal that successfully accomplished the rather artless task of reducing Lochinver to a packaged holiday haven dedicated to generating more tourist dollars.
Lochinver's residents had come to accept this situation as a fact of life. Every year, they braced themselves for the influx of visitors that swelled the town's coffers and reminded the locals how nice it would be when autumn finally rolled along again and things were quiet again. They looked forward to it like they forward to all things, with dignified expectation and profound gratitude when the moment was finally upon them.
This year however, something had changed.
At first, no one could discern what it was. It had happened so gradually that by the time they were aware of it, it had become so commonplace that it was difficult to remember when things had not been as they were now. As a coastal port, Lochinver was more than accustomed to the numerous vessels that sailed into its port throughout the year. Whether they were deep-sea trawlers on their way to find better fishing waters or wealthy mariners with custom fitted yachts, to the people of Lochinver their presence was as a fact of life. After all, Lochinver had began its life as a port and the arrival of ships was so ingrained into their identity, it would be considered unforgivable to question it.
However, in the last four months a new sort of traveler began making their appearance.
Small collections of men and women arrived in boats that could only be described as antiques yet bearing such exquisite beauty that it could not be envisioned that they were anything but newly crafted for its perfection. Often tall with long hair and strange accents, they spoke English perfectly but one knew instinctively that it was not their native tongue. They did not lodge at Lochinver when they put to port, choosing instead to remain on their boats. However, when they did emerge, they were polite and eager to sample the local cuisine and converse to the townsfolk about any number of subjects.
They were undoubtedly foreign and it was generally believed that these visitors hailed from the colder, European countries for they seemed to have that air about them. Once arriving in the community, they lingered for no more than a day or two. Some would trade small gems and pearls for currency at the local jeweler, before departing the town on trains or buses to the parts unknown. It appeared none of these strangers drove. However, for the brief time they spent in Lochinver, they were gracious guests who took pleasure in the scenery, unlike the stomping tourists that invaded the town during the summer.
There were rumors that these visitors were also sighted coming into port further up the coast in Drumbeg and Scourie but no one could confirm this and in truth, no was particularly rushed to do discern their secret, whatever it was. The strangers did not cause mischief and anyone in their presence would get the distinct impression that they wished to maintain their privacy. Lochinver's inhabitants who longed for the days when their community was just a quiet hideaway in the Scottish coasts could respected the sentiment and saw no reason to cause trouble particularly when the arrangement seemed to suit everyone.
There were occasions when the visitors were questioned about their origins, though these were mere inquiries not pointed interrogations. Across the sea, they would respond in answer, further promoting the belief that they had indeed originated from Iceland or one of the Nordic countries. They could not possibly be illegal immigrants because as often as they disappeared into the country from Lochinver, they also returned with similar frequency. After an interlude of many weeks, the visitors would promptly return to town, often bearing souvenirs from their travels before embarking upon the voyage home. In their grey ships, they would sail across into the mists and that was all one would hear from them until more of their countrymen returned.
When the latest of these visitors stepped on the wharf and made their way into town, their arrival hardly rated a glance. So commonplace were these odd visitors, that Lochinver's residence no longer pondered their origins as they once had, aware only that once the visitors' business was concluded, they would return the way they came. On this occasion, the new arrivals were two young men clad in dark heavy clothes that were well suited for the cooling weather. Both had long dark hair, braided in the appropriate places so that it would not become unruly, with serious expressions and handsome enough in their features to bring a smile to the faces of any woman that happened upon them.
Like those before them, they were polite and gracious to the people they encountered and it was not long before it was understood that they were brothers. Twins apparently, though not identical. The older of the two was the more conversant while the younger appeared more reserved if not a little shy. They remained in the town for a day, taking in the best of the town's cuisine and, drinking all together too much Coke than was considered decent and making inquiries as to the next appearance of Xena, the Warrior Princess.
The next morning saw both men embarking upon their journey southwards, boarding a bus that would eventually take them to London. Like those who had come before them, they offered no word as to when they would return but the folk of Lochinver sensed they would see the brothers again. It was curious this understanding between Lochinver's folk and these strangers. However, the trust had been engendered from the same feeling that had gripped them all since the first appearance of the majestic grey ships. No one spoke of it but they all felt it, felt it seeping into their bones, saturating their being with a presence so familiar and welcoming that it was almost enlightenment.
It was a feeling of seeing starlight returning to their midst.
***********
PRESENT…
Miranda Miller wished she were anywhere but here.
Sitting in her car, peering over the steering wheel at the busy street beyond the parking lot of the local shopping center she had been forced to visit to pick up Frank's dry cleaning, she took a deep breath to steady herself. Her knuckles gripped the wheel tight until they were white from exertion as she struggled to control the shudder of anxiety that had become commonplace since returning to Europe. She had hoped returning here after nine years would spare her these lapses but it appeared she was not as settled with her demons as she liked to think. The atmosphere around her was so damn familiar to another experience, buried deep within memory and the only secret she still kept from Frank, that it drove the air from her lungs and she had to take a minute to crush the uneasy emotions swelling inside her into nothingness.
She could not be this way in front of her husband or her children. They needed her too much for Miranda to disappoint them with such embarrassing weakness. In the old days, behavior like this would not be tolerated. She was required to keep rampant emotions under check and was sorely disappointed that after nine years, her skill sand training had degraded to such that she was sitting in her car, shuddering like just another frightened woman. It was with that thought that she shook off the sensation of discomfort and started the car. She had too much to do today to be wasting her time with this sentimental nonsense.
This was Oslo, not Belfast and she was a housewife, not an intelligence operative working for the British government.
Miranda slid the key into the ignition and started the car, bringing to life the engines and filling the vehicle with its healthy drone. She glanced at her watch and saw that she was almost due to pick up her sons. Putting the vehicle in gear, Miranda proceeded to drive out of the parking lot into the street that would take her to the city center of Blindern where the boys were presently at school. It never ceased to amaze her how easily her mood improved when she thought about her family and their needs. To Miranda Miller, there was nothing more important than the welfare of the family that comprised of her two sons, Sammie or Sam as he preferred to be called these days, Philip, and Frank, the husband she adored, though she knew he sometimes wondered why.
Frank had entered Miranda's life at a point when she believed that there was nothing ahead but the grim world of her demons consuming her until she ate a bullet to end it. His arrival had been such a surprise that to this day, Miranda still wondered how it was possible for one person to so completely enrich another's life but sheer presence alone. It was difficult to perceive that Frank Miller was capable of affecting anyone on such a level when one first met him. Certainly, Miranda had not considered him impressive when Bryan first introduced them. However, by the end of the night of that first meeting, she had this odd sensation in the pit of her soul that this man she would spend the rest of her life with.
Unlike his brother Bryan whom Miranda had known first, Frank was somewhat reserved in social situations and found it difficult to command a room in the manner his brother found so easy. However, what he did have was a quiet strength about him, a sense of dependability made others turn to him in times of crisis and this was further supported by the steel in his nature that he concealed from those around him. She knew perfectly well that if he needed to take command of a situation he would rise to the occasion perfectly and do so with such subtlety that one would not know they were being led until they was already a follower.
They had met six months after the most harrowing assignment of her career. Miranda had been an operative working for the Intelligence and Security Company, an organization whose primary goal was the surveillance and intelligence gathering from Irish Republican groups. She had been recruited out of university and one of the qualifying necessities for such risk work was training in the SAS. Officially, the SAS had no women on its combat teams. However, the SAS had no reservations training them for other purposes. Their training regimen was more brutal than the US Navy Seals and their reputation for being the fighting elite was not underserved. Out of the dozen or more women that subjected themselves to this backbreaking instruction, Miranda was one of only three who had survived to graduate
Despite the chauvinism that infected the rest of the military establishment in terms of female officers, the atmosphere in the SAS and the Intelligence community was very different indeed. Women were expected to be just as qualified as men even if they were not combat operatives. By the time her training was completed, she was more than capable of walking into a war zone alongside any SAS soldier and hold her own in a fight. She knew how to kill and she knew how to avoid being killed. Above all else, the training had taught her the necessity of survival under any circumstances. She learnt to force away emotions, to bury them in deep dark place within herself so they would not interfere with the mission. Everything she was before the service had been whittled away in favor of this doctrine.
It was during her last assignment that Miranda had met Bryan. He was the contact to whom Miranda would
deliver her report on the activities of the particular IRA member she had been
assigned to for the previous six months. It should have been the matter of
simplex exchange, a routine task carried out a dozen times before without
incident. Unfortunately, an informer
had tipped off the IRA about the transaction and during their meeting, she and
Bryan were abducted and driven to a secluded location for interrogation. It was difficult to say who bore the worst
of it because they were both subjected to the same torture. However, it was not Bryan they raped.
Miranda did not think about it. Even during the ordeal, she had had shunted aside the experience because in her mind, it was not happening to her. It was happening to the persona she had cultivated to trick the enemy for the past year. In the service, the instructors had prepared them for rape as much as one could prepare anyone for such an ordeal. For female operatives, it was always a possibility and when it happened to Miranda, she bore it the best she could. She even used it to escape. They thought they had beaten her when the violated her body, they did not. Once it was done, she pushed away the memories and continued the business of surviving. Ironically it was during this episode she was able to escape and reach Bryan. Together, they walked out of there alive and left a lot of bodies in their wake.
Miranda was put on leave as soon as she returned. Although she wanted to go back to work immediately, the Firm's doctor's thought otherwise. Perhaps they knew better than she did that eventually what happened in Belfast would return to haunt her, despite her best efforts to suppress the memory. For her part, she had tried admirably to pretend that nothing had happened, unaware that she was self-destructing before the eyes of everyone who knew her. In her solitude, she began to learn that her work had taken the place of everything else in her life. It sent her spiraling into depression with Miranda realizing one day she was looking at her gun as the solution to her troubles.
She had sat there in her apartment, shell shocked that the thought had even crossed her mind and came to the conclusion that this was what the doctors had feared. Miranda knew the reality of the situation. Agents of her level could not function with that kind of stain on their record. For what they were required to do, any small mental defect could very quickly escalate and compromise the lives of others. The Firm simply would not risk it. Sensing that they were about to put her on indefinite leave, a prelude to something more permanent, Miranda had slipped further into depression, convinced that her career was over and having no idea how to function without it.
When Bryan Miller appeared at her doorstep, he was the last person she wanted to see. Bryan had been there, he had heard every tortured cry and knew perfectly what they had done to her even if he was not in the room while it was taking place. Part of her ability to cope with her ordeal was the fact that most people were reluctant to discuss it with her because they could not imagine what it was like. Bryan however could, he was there and unfortunately for sheer stubbornness, Bryan was more than a match for Miranda when he set his mind to things. When he knocked her door, he was determined to save her from herself and he had enough will to ensure that she accepted his help whether or not she wanted it.
Despite her protests, Bryan refused to take no for an answer when he invited her out for a drink that night. Fortunately, they had both seen far too much of each other's darker side to ever turn to one another other in any romantic fashion. She considered him a friend even if he was a stubborn bastard who would not leave well enough alone. She had accepted mainly to appease him and joined Bryan when he went to meet his brother, who had just returned to London after working in Africa. She had not expected anything from the evening except, for maybe Bryan getting drunk and she having to ensure that he did not get into too much trouble.
Like most Yorkshire men, he loved his pub brawls.
Miranda could not say it was love at first sight but something about Frank intrigued her. His quiet manner, so contrasting in comparison to Bryan's, was almost charming. He was soft spoken, sympathetic and not at all intrusive. Like his brother, his green eyes saw a great deal but he was even more subtle about it than Bryan, who was an operative trained for such observations. For Frank, it was not a vocational requirement but rather a fact of life. As an archaeologist, he had to see past the surface to find the truth hidden beneath some very fragmentary clues. The first time she met him, Miranda had the impression he saw her as a riddle he had to solve. However, he did so with the delicacy of an archaeologist unearthing the find of a lifetime; with patience and care.
Whether or not Bryan was taking a turn playing matchmaker, Miranda would never know because Bryan was wickedly closed mouthed about it. The bastard. However, he did not seem to mind when Frank offered to take her home as if she were a teenager and he was her date. At her door, Frank did not ask to be invited in. He stood at her doorway, telling Miranda he had a wonderful time, and asked almost shyly her if he could call her the next day. It was to Miranda's surprise that she found herself wanting to see him again and telling him that she would like that very much. After he had gone, Miranda had closed her door with the oddest sensation that her life had reached a watershed and was about to take a very unexpected turn.
Frank remained in London for two months and they saw each other virtually every other day. It was not easy to know him and in that, they had something in common. Their relationship was almost an exploration of each other souls and though she did not tell him what had happened to her in Belfast, she noted he did not probe deeply into the reasons for her departure from the service. Miranda doubted that Bryan would have told him the truth because it was a Firm matter and its operatives were not in the habit of discussing it even with family members even if the Official Secrets Act didn't bind them.
In any case, he was always content to let her set the pace for their relationship. He did not kiss her until he was certain she was comfortable with the intimacy and even so, he was more than willing to pull back when he sensed any anxiety on her part. Miranda believed he knew that she had been raped but he spared her the pain of having to tell him outright and for that it was so very easy to fall in love with him. When he told her two months later that he was a part of a research team bound for Tanzania, Miranda was dismayed by the idea that he would be gone. The very thought that she would not see him left this void inside her soul that astonished Miranda. All her life, she had told herself that she would not be one of those women who would be satisfied with being just a wife. However, when she thought of Frank walking out of her life, she could think of being nothing else to remain at his side.
When he left England, Miranda went with him.
She never regretted the decision and being a wife and subsequently a mother had its own rewards almost as great her time in the service, if not better. The first time she looked into Sam's face, she had wept from the sheer emotion of it. Suddenly the world had ceased to be this enormous place and had contracted into the tiny bundle in her arms for which there was no ugliness or brutality. In the midst of all the death she had seen, the blood she was capable of spilling, knowing this life that had come from her had restored Miranda's faith in herself. Her life was not simply about surviving the next day, it was about creating life, about nurturing it and ensuring that her children would never know the things she had seen.
Sam had been all that for her and while she loved both her sons equally, Miranda had to confess that she had a deeper connection with her first-born. He seemed the more grounded of her two children while Philip or Pip, as his parents called him, was a dreamer like his father. Sam was determined, headstrong and practical, qualities Frank had repeatedly told him he acquired from his mother, while Pip loved books and was a sweet natured child who only had to smile to melt his mother's heart.
When the demons of Miranda Miller's chose to make an appearance, it was her love for her family that gave her the strength to crush them into submission again. The past was an unfortunate reminder of the person she had been, the person who had died forever when she became a wife and a mother.
It was a sacrifice Miranda was more than happy to make.
***********
"So we now know that despite Boule's view on the Neanderthal being an inferior member of the hominid family, an opinion he formed because the fossils he examined belonged to an elderly person, was far from the truth. In fact, the Neanderthals were a highly successful species with a larger cranium capacity than modern humans. Their bones were thick indicating a powerful musculature and they lived within a tight knit social structure. They were able hunters with exceptional knowledge of the prey they hunted since many of their fossilized remains reveal evidence of injuries sustained by animal attack, most likely when they got too close. Imagine the injuries you would get hunting mammoth? In any case, this should give us a healthy respect for them."
Frank Miller swept his gaze across the classroom as he concluded his lecture and was gratified to see that most of his students were actually listening. A good portion were staring at him in anticipation, waiting for him to add further comments while others were scribbling furiously into their note pads, attempting to condense his lecture into a series of concise paragraphs. A few had started shifting in their seats, an indication that they were aware that the class was drawing to a close, their eyes stealing glances at the clock as they listened to him speak.
Frank could not blame them for wanting an escape from this room. He had been teaching at the University of Oslo for the past six months and even though the posting was pleasant enough, he missed the excitement of on site fieldwork. He wondered what they would think if they knew that he wanted to leave the room as much as they did
"I am preparing a test for early next week so I recommend that you study chapters five and six of the text. How you do in this test will greatly influence the selection process for those who are signing up for summer fieldwork with me. Now, if you would please leave my classroom, I need to recover after the ordeal of teaching all of you. Dismissed."
His comment drew a ripple of laughter throughout the student body and he flashed them a smile in case some of his less astute pupils were unaware he was joking. Frank could not deny that despite his ambivalence in accepting a teaching position, there was some satisfaction in knowing that he was shaping the minds of future archaeologists. Retreating behind his desk, he lowered himself into his seat as the exodus out of his classroom began. The sound of shuffling of feet and the closing of books filled the room for a few moments, as well as a chorus of good evenings from the departing students.
Frank had been dubious about his ability to teach a class in Oslo because of the language barrier but the Dean had been very convincing when he approached Frank about accepting the position. He was a leading paleoanthropologist in his field and there were more than enough English speaking students in the university to warrant his position. Normally Frank would have refused the offer as he had done so many in the past but it was one simple fact that had forced him to take the job to his regret; his family.
As well as being an archaeologist, Frank was a husband and a father and his chosen profession had ensured his family had never quite known a normal life. When he thought about the situations he had subjected Miranda and the kids during in the past few years, Frank decided for once he was going to make a decision on his career that would benefit them all. Even if it meant being trapped in this place for a number of years and doomed only to undertake field work in the summers.
God knows he had put Miranda through enough during their nine-year marriage. He had been on a site in Tanzania when she was pregnant with Sam and despite all her bravado when it came time to deliver, Frank knew she was scared. All the training in the military could not prepare her for the experience of being a mother, the onset which was the actually birth of the child. It had not helped matters that they were fifty miles from the nearest hospital and Sam had decided to arrive a fortnight earlier than he was expected. It was a pattern repeated over the years where Miranda was forced to make their family life somewhat tolerable, usually in the middle of a desert or some African Savannah where the fossil hunting was good. She never complained and the kids seemed to enjoy their nomadic lifestyle but of late Frank had started to think that perhaps they deserved better.
Miranda deserved to be in a place where there was running water and proper plumbing. She deserved to be near a supermarket or in easy reach of a doctor's office. She needed to be able to go get a pedicure or whatever it was that women did in salons every now and again and she deserved to be taken to dinner once in awhile and be lavished with attention by her husband. When he had accepted the position in Olso, it was so that she would have all these things because she had never complained once in all their years of marriage that his work was depriving her and the kids of a normal life.
Frank's love for his wife was more than he was able to describe. When she entered his life so unexpectedly, he had thought she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. His golden haired goddess, he thought privately to himself. Bryan had warned him that she had been hurt and Frank knew his brother well enough to know that if Bryan was asking him to thread with caution, then there was a good reason for it. Bryan's perception of danger was ten bars above everyone else's. There was little that could shake his brother's cynical demeanor so Frank had paid attention when Bryan had told him that the woman they were meeting tonight needed to be handle with care.
Bryan had said nothing else about what had happened to Miranda when they had first met, however, it did not take any great feat of intelligence for Frank to discern what had happened to her. During their first encounter, he noted the way she would flinch if anyone brushed past her, or much she tried not to notice if a waiter stood too close to her at the table. He saw the cloud in those amazing green eyes and knew that despite being injured with Bryan in the same mission, whatever it was, more had been done to her. He could tell because these things were not lost upon Bryan either and with each reaction, Frank saw the tiny slivers of guilt stealing into his brother's gaze at being unable to stop any of it.
For Frank, even if what he suspected was the truth, it mattered little. He had fallen in love with her the moment he laid eyes on her and wanted nothing more than to take away the sadness in her heart. For the next two months, he worked hard to gain her trust, not an easy thing to do because the service had given her the same hard edge that he had become accustomed to seeing in his brother. Fortunately, that also meant that Frank had some idea of how to deal with it. When he asked her to marry him at the end of those two months, he dared not hope that she would accept but he could not leave England without at least trying. He did not think he could be quite as happy as he was the day she accepted his proposal.
They married less than a week later with Bryan grinning ear to ear like some deranged Cheshire cat, so much so that Frank was forced to remind his older brother that he knew many interesting women in academia that would appreciate an introduction with an unmarried bachelor such as Bryan. For a man who was probably a secret agent for all Frank knew, Bryan had a yellow streak a mile wide when it came to things like commitment. If Bryan ever found a woman who could capture his heart, Frank was certain that he would send her his sympathies and a condolence card.
His ruminations came to a halt when he heard footsteps. Lifting his head, Frank saw the approach of Professor Hans Skogen, the man who had offered him this job in the first place. Frank had met Hans at a symposium some years ago and though they had never worked together, had developed an instant rapport that they maintained through letters and electronic correspondences over the years. Hans had been thrilled when Frank had agreed to play substitute for one of his staff members presently on an expedition in Iceland. An elderly man with snow-white hair and a rather leathery face, Hans' skin showed signs of someone who had spent his youth in the outdoors. From the papers he had written on Saharan pastrolists, Frank knew that it was data accumulated from someone who had spent a lifetime in the field.
As he approached, Frank knew immediately something was wrong. Hans seemed older and his eyes were filled with the shadow of some dark news.
"What is it Professor?" Frank asked immediately. No matter how long they had
known each other, Frank could not abide calling him by his title. It seemed a terrible lapse in respect to
refer to such a brilliant mind in so
forward a manner.
"I have just received news from Hveravellir," Hans said somewhat dazed as he lowered himself into one of the vacant seats in the classroom, "there's been some sort of accident. The entire excavation team in Iceland was killed."
"Killed?" Frank exclaimed horrified. He knew some of those researchers and students, Gunther Nilsen, Freya Seljelid to name a few. "How?"
"They think its acave in," Hans replied, appearing as if he could not quite believe the news. It was understandable, the man whose job Frank was presently occupying was a good friend to Hans. "It is difficult to say because they cannot reach the bodies. All their vehicles were recovered over the excavation site. It was clear they never emerged from the caldera to the surface. It will take months if at all, before any effort can be made to reach the bodies."
"Is it possible that they could still be alive?" Frank asked, becoming just as stunned by the news as Hans.
"The chasm is completely sealed. It appears as if the sides just gave way and collapsed upon itself. I don't understand it, the Temple Glacier was cleared of any instability and if the event of a seismic disturbance, they had more than enough equipment to predict an episode long before it took place."
"What do the Icelandic authorities say?" Frank inquired, unable to process such a loss. Such accidents were not uncommon but to lose an entire team was still a terrible tragedy, no matter how one tried to rationalize it.
"They could tell me very little except that they would try and send teams to recover the bodies if possible, however, considering they were more than a mile deep, that makes any such effort problematic at best."
"Yes," Frank nodded in understanding. "Petra Tebben's research indicated that they would have to go to some depths to recover their ice samples."
"You know her research?" Hans met his gaze.
"Only from what she has published," Frank offered. When he had first arrived here, he had taken an off hand interest in what had caused his predecessor, Richard Ahlgren, to join the Icelandic expedition. "It's very speculative and there isn't a great deal of evidence to support her theories. I am rather surprised that she found funding considering how difficult it is to find grants for legitimate theories, let alone outlandish ones."
"The last I heard from Richard," Hans declared, "was that they had found something in the ice using magnetic prospecting."
"I hear that is providing some amazing finds," Frank replied, knowing something of the method of prospecting that allowed objects deep in the dirt to be discovered thanks to the differing magnetic resonance in each sedimentary layer of earth. "Did he say what it was?"
"No," Hans shook his head, "but it was meant to be justify their reason for being there."
Hans lapsed into silence again and Frank could see that the news had impacted badly on the Professor. The old man had known many of the people on the excavation team and while Frank mourned them also, he did not have the same emotional connection to them that Hans had. The Professor seemed frailer in the light of this terrible news and prompted Frank into leaving his desk and crossing the floor to him.
"Why don't you come home with me tonight," Frank offered. "You haven't seen the boys in weeks and we can have dinner."
"I thought you said your wife is not a good cook," Hans reminded.
Hans had a point. For all the wonderful things that Miranda could do, cooking simply was not one of them.
"Good point. We'll order out."
************
Sam Miller wiped the blood from his nose.
He could hear Pip crying in the background, past the sound of pounding in his ears. He looked up from the ground that he had landed upon and saw Aksel staring at him with a triumphant sneer on his face. The boy was a year older than Sam was but he was bigger than most and unafraid to use his size to intimidate younger children. Boys like Aksel never did their bullying alone, a fact that Sam was beginning to learn as he saw Aksel's friends, Trigve and Nils flanking him. He stared at them for a minute, his anger rising inside his young body in heated waves of fury, trying to decide how he was going to take all three of them without them beating him senseless and venting their anger on Pip again. .
Since their arrival at the St. Sunniva School, an expensive private school that catered to the children of expatriate lecturers and researchers at the University of Oslo, Pip had become Aksel's favorite target. It did not help that Pip was small for his age and that he did not go to the primary school like Sam but rather the non-compulsory kindergarten classes. After years of being tutored by either parent owing to the remote locations of his father's archaeology digs, coming to a proper school with other children, had been something the boys had looked forward to immensely. For most part, it was still everything they dreamed it would be except for Aksel and his equally nasty friends.
Aksel was Sam's first encounter with a bully. Despite his lack of experience in dealing with such children, Sam had decided quickly that he did not appreciate being intimidated and like it even less when it was his brother being victimized. Aksel had targeted his brother for no other reason than Pip being too small to stop him from stealing his lunch money. Their lunch money was hardly a fortune even in children's terms but Sam sensed it was not the money. It was the power. His mother had often said that it was not the hurting that bad people like to indulge in but rather the sense of power it gave them over others. Sam was not about to put up with that in any shape of form.
"What are you doing English boy?" Aksel asked gloating. "Cry like your baby brother?"
Sam raised his eyes to the three faces before him, feeling a surge of intense outrage at their triumphant bragging. It hurt more the pain pulsing from his nose, the ringing in his ears where they had hit him or the cheek scraped across the concrete. Sam stood up and glanced at Pip who was shaking his head silently, perfectly aware that the gleam in his older brother's eyes was not defeat.
"Don't," Pip said wordlessly but he might as well have shouted it as far as Sam was concerned.
Their laughter still ringing in his ears, Sam stood up in the center of the playground, surrounded by other children who were trying to decide what he would do but registered nothing but Aksel. His companions did not matter. They lacked the backbone to bully anyone on their own. No, it was Aksel that influenced their behavior and thus Aksel that needed dealing with.
Without giving them any warning, Sam ran forward and grabbed the leader in a full body tackle that toppled them both to the concrete. The two children slammed hard into the floor, Aksel taking the worst of it because he was beneath Sam. The older boy's head hit the hard surface with a whack and uttered a cry of pain as he did so.
In seconds, Sam was certain that Aksel's friends would leap into the fray and shift the odds in the favor of the bully once more, but before that happened he intended to make those few seconds count. Pummeling the older boy with his fists, Sam was relentless and determined. He struck Aksel a number of times, taking advantage of the fact that Aksel was still too dazed to fight back and was still kicking when Trigve and Nil dragged him away.
"You're going to pay for that!" Aksel grunted a minute later, his eye sporting a dark bruise while his lip was split and bleeding.
"Come on then!" Sam shouted unafraid. "You're too chicken to fight fair!"
The words saw Aksel stiffening with rage, not because Sam had said them but because the children watching the melee as spectators might believe it was true. Sam could tell that Aksel was rather stunned by the ferocity of Sam's efforts to defend his brother and if this were not so public an arena, the boy might have withdrawn. Unfortunately, Sam's challenge had provoked his masculine pride and he could not yield without looking weak in front of the other children.
Aksel took a step forward and Sam was certain he was going to lose teeth when suddenly he saw Pip's face brighten with relief. His brother had been in tears but stopped crying abruptly and the happiness on his face could mean only one thing. The spectators watching this after school fight began to dissipate and even Aksel's companions suddenly saw good reason to disperse.
"What the bloody hell is going on here!"
Sam felt his breath escape him as he recognized that voice. It was mum!
Aksel was really in trouble now.
"Mum!" Sam exclaimed when he saw his mother nearing them. Sam could tell but the hard look in her eyes that she was perfectly aware of what was going on. The other children had started to scatter with even greater speed, not wishing to become embroiled in this affair now that there were parents were involved. Even Trigve and Nils had released him quickly and hurried away, not waiting for the last member of their triad to catch up. Even Aksel had started to run but before he could escape, Miranda reached out and caught him by the arm with surprising speed.
"Let me go!" He spat at her.
"Not until we have a few words," Miranda said glaring at him hard.
She saw her Sam with his nose bleeding, his upper lips smeared in crimson as was the scrape that ran from his temple to his jaw line. It took all her control to remain calm and even more so to remember that she was dealing with another child. Pip had dried his eyes and was looking intensely pleased at her arrival and she had no heart to be stern with the child, giving him a little wink that produced that heart melting smile across his face.
"Mum its alright," Sam said wiping his nose again when a fresh rivulet of blood appeared out of a nostril. "I'm okay."
"Wait in the car," she said glancing over her shoulder at the road where their four wheel drive was parked.
"Sam didn't do anything..." Pip started to say but Miranda cut him off firmly but not harshly.
"Philip, Samuel...WAIT FOR ME IN THE CAR."
The boys knew that tone well. That was the tone of voice she used when she wanted no argument from them and they had seen her employ it to such effectiveness that even their father was reluctant to object.
"We're going," he said conceding defeat, "but he's just a bully mum." Sam added feeling a little sorry for Aksel even if he deserved what was coming.
"You rotten squealer!" Aksel shouted viciously as Sam ushered Pip towards the car as per their mother's instructions.
Miranda waited until her sons had crossed the playground and disappeared behind the trees into the vehicle when she turned back to their tormentor. The young man in her grip looked unrepentant. He probably thought she was going to give him a stern talking to and warn him that she would call his parents if he did not behave. Miranda had dealt with his kind all her life, in and out of the service. She was exceedingly proud at Sam for standing his ground. She knew her son well. He did not accept intimidation well. Frank had once told her that Sam must have inherited that trait from her but it was not so, if Sam had acquired that from anywhere, it was from Bryan.
"What's so your name?" Miranda asked the child, this eight year old who was probably going to grow up to be just as nasty in his adult years as he was in childhood. Boys like this never learned the important lessons until later, when they were standing in the wreckage of lives that they had no control in shaping because their parents had never taught them better.
"Aksel Aarset," he replied scornfully, "you going to call my father now and tell him what a wimp Sam is?"
Miranda smiled and decided this boy was going to be quite the charmer until the first time someone took real offense and broke every bone in that smart mouth of his. If he were older, she would have obliged him. However, she was a mother and she had deal with things differently.
"No," Miranda shook her head. "I have some idea how your father will react. Chances are fairly good that you are the way you are because of him. He's probably a bully too so I shall probably be wasting my time. However, I will not have you terrorizing my children, either of them."
"What are you going to? Come to school and hold their hand?" The boy bit back.
"No," she shook her head and suddenly twisted his arm so sharply that he could not ignore the pain even if Miranda was careful not to leave marks or do any permanent injury. "I will break every fucking bone in your body, is that clear?"
It was a bluff of course but he was too young to know that.
"I will tell my father..." the boy exclaimed his face turning into a grimace of pain as he saw the menacing gleam in her eye.
"Will you tell your father why?" Miranda asked coldly, "will you tell him how his son is a thief, because if you don't I will. Don't assume anything when it comes to me boy. You'll be surprised how much I can get away with if I feel the need. I'm a mother after all. I can't be responsible for that I do when my children are being hurt. I shall take my Sam to the doctor and have his nose fixed so anyone who comes looking for me will know you did that to him. Do we understand each other?" She twisted just enough so that he was squirming again.
Tears were running down the boy's face, not from the pain but from the threat in her eyes. He may have been eight but he was perceptive enough to believe that the threat was real. She was crazy and he had bullied many children in school. His father was proud of him for being so strong but the headmaster was in possession of a thick file of complaints, complaints that usually required another hefty donation from his family to make disappear. Most of the other parents were content to remove their children from the school but Sam's mother did not appear to be one of these. He did not doubt that she would hurt him and he did not doubt that if he told his father, it would only end up worse for him.
"Okay!" The boy replied, feeling his lip quiver as the tears began to come,
humiliating stream of moisture running down his flushed cheeks. "I won't come
near them again."
"Good," she smiled, releasing him. He staggered back, clutching his arm. "I'm glad we had this little talk Aksel Aarset," she said straightening up, her eyes filled with naked dislike. "Do yourself a favor and stop being a bully Aksel because one day, you will find someone who is even less forgiving than I."
*************
"Let me look," Miranda ordered when she returned to the car and found Sam holding his nose with a blood soaked tissue.
"It hurts," Sam whined, forgetting all about his earlier bravado and enjoying his mother's attention. She always knew how to make the hurts go away, from small pox to scrape knees. It had to be some magic that only mothers knew how to do. "I know it's broken. It feels like it's broken. My nose will be crooked and I'll look like the cowboy in Shanghai Knights."
Miranda rolled her eyes, suppressing a snigger, "no I don't think you're quite ready to match Owen Wilson in the broken nose contest yet," she answered examining him in the backseat of their Cherokee Jeep.
"He was so brave mum," Pip said excitedly, "Sam was like a footy player, he just ran into Aksel and put him on the ground! It was so cool! He made Aksel bleed too!"
"I don't think your father is going to like you using your fists to solve your problems Sam," Miranda replied, wondering if she was not a touch hypocritical after her exchange with the young boy in question. However, she was required to dispense sensible advice to his youthful mind, not impose instill in him her own brand of justice.
"He was beating on Pip," Sam grumbled, "I won't let anyone hurt my brother."
Miranda felt her inside warm with love and pride for this little scraper that was her son. "You were very brave," she replied before planting a little kiss on his forehead. "Now let's go home and fix up that nose. I'll think of something to tell your father."
***********
For the twin sons of Elrond Peredhill, Elladan and Elrohir felt as if they were journeying through Arda for the first time.
During their previous visit to Arda, a hundred thousand years after leaving its shores in the Fourth Age, there had been little time to see anything. They had come to Arda to find Olorin and during that occasion had found a world so alien, that it had been effort enough to simply move through it without drawing suspicion let alone find their lost friend. If it were not for their chance encounter with Eve McCaughley, the human reincarnation of their sister, Arwen Undomiel, it was likely that they would have never succeeded in bringing Olorin home or bringing to the attention of the Valar, the return of Morgoth to Arda.
However in the wake of Manwe's momentous announcement following Eve's wedding to Aaron, the reincarnation of Aragorn Elessar, they were not the only elves to have departed Valinor in the past six months. Though the numbers were still small, groups of elves were crossing the sea in their grey ships to see the changes that had taken about in Arda and experience the wonders of the modern world for themselves. The Teleri were gleefully building ships again, trying to fashion their constructs with some of the techniques that Aaron had brought with him by request when the human returned to Valinor the second time. Apparently, aside from their mission to save the world from Sauron, the healer had been given an extensive list of reading material to bring home and though Cirdan was still dubious about ships being made wholly from steel, the master shipbuilder was open to learning something about the techniques modern shipbuilding. There had been a wave of sympathy for Aaron as the human was forced to translate the books for the insistent shipwright.
For Elladan and Elrohir who were disappointed that they were not allowed to cross the sea when Aaron had gone to face Sauron's reincarnation, this journey was one of discovery. The twins had always shared a love of exploration and there was no greater unknown at the moment than the modern world. Their last visit had provided them with little opportunity to really see it and on this journey, they were fully intending to rectify situation. Arriving in Eriador or Great Britain as it was now called, they were able to cross its length in little more than a day, covering distances that only Gwaihir would have been capable back in the day. The humans of Valinor had been very specific in their lessons to the elves making the trip over the Western Sea. Aside from the instruction in language and customs, was the caution to remain unnoticed above all else.
Elladan and Elrohir had learnt how to speak and read English with far more ease than the humans believed possible. However since it was the elves that had taught all the other races to speak, they had a far greater aptitude for learning languages quickly than most. The race of men had developed numerous languages, numbering in the hundreds but fortunately English was the most commonly used. When Aaron and Eve had first arrived at Valinor, the elves had aspired to learn the language for the simple reason that it was new. After a hundred thousand years of isolation, it had surprised many of them how intensely they felt the craving for knowledge. The twins suspected that this was partially the reason for the Valar's decision to allow the elves to go forth into the world again.
The mind, whether it belonged to an elf or a human, needed to learn in order to grow.
Their command of English was more than passable according to Aaron and when they had emerged into the township of Lochinver, they found that its inhabitants had grown somewhat accustomed to the strange visitors coming from mists of the sea into their presence if but briefly. The elves sensed that perhaps deep in the core of them, the humans recognized the elves from their distant past. Even if their minds no longer retained the memory, their heart could feel their connection of long past. In any case, elves knew enchantments that ensured that the humans of Lochinver had no reason to question their comings and goings.
After spending the customary day in Lochinver where they became accustomed to being in a modern community of Arda once more, the twins traded their pearls and sometimes their gold for the means to travel. The gold had been wisely melted down prior to their arrival, into simple bangles to avoid questions about its design and its origins and exchanged for the odd notes of paper that passed for currency in this realm. Judging by the thick wad of money that was given to them and the jeweler's advice to find something called a bank, the twins surmised that their trade had been beneficial to both parties. Once they were fiscally secure, they acquired passage out of the town on the large vehicles known as buses and made their way to the great city of London.
The journey through England did not seem as overwhelming to the twins as their introduction to America. The land known as the Angel Isle held certain elements of familiarity for the duo. There were moments when they sighted familiar in the landscape that inspired a distant memory of Eriador but these fleeting even if there was no mistaking that this realm was once home to the hobbits of the Shire. Although being confined in the small space of the bus for almost an entire day had been quite unpleasant, the elves could not deny that they made good progress. Also, the breaks offered them a further glimpse of the country while allowing them to remain on course to their destination.
Upon arriving in London, a city which seemed very much like Minas Tirith in that it possessed the same frantic pace and a desire to maintain its traditional past, Elladan and Elrohir sought out the man whom Bryan Miller had instructed them to find as soon as they arrived. It had been easy enough, thanks to Eve's advice, to navigate the seemingly maze like city. It appeared that people were not so suspicious if they claimed to be tourists in need of direction and the twins were sensible enough to stay away from any officials even before their human companions offered the warning. Eve in particular, had told them to make their queries to any young woman her age though she did not explain why.
The first time Elladan asked for directions and was offered that and an invitation 'to go for a drink' more or explained their reincarnated sister's reasoning and her enigmatic smirk.
Nevertheless despite several such offers that grew even more amorous when the young women learnt that they were twins, Elladan and Elrohir managed to reach their quarry, with their virtue intact. While it would have been intriguing to pursue a brief dalliance, elves were painfully aware that any sort of relationship between themselves and humans would inevitably end badly. Also, they could ill afford to allow anyone they did not trust explicitly to pay too close attention to them or their origins.
Despite their assurances that they could remain anonymous from the officials that governed Arda, Bryan had not been so certain that they would escape scrutiny, even in a minor instance. The man he had sent them to find was apparently a master craftsman and an associate from his previous occupation. As Bryan told it, Watkins owed him a favor and in aiding Elladan and Elrohir, he would be repaying that debt. Bryan believed they could trust him and Elrohir who had been the human's constant companion since his arrival in Valinor, knew that trust was not a word the man bandied about freely. When they finally approached Watkins and delivered Bryan's request, the man had looked at them oddly as if trying to discern what they were but did not make any comment in regards to what was being asked of him.
Watkins was an elderly man who smelled like musty paper and damp wood. He was pleasant enough, conversing about his retirement plans and regaling them with tales of Bryan's previous exploits in the service of England's queen. They had felt some apprehension when he recorded their faces on an image maker but Watkins assured them that it was for a good cause. He disappeared after that into his workroom and did not emerge again for many hours, leaving the twins to wonder what it was Bryan had instructed him to do.
When Watkins returned, their questions were answered and once again, the twins had to marvel at Bryan's foresight. In the old man's possession appeared to be a complete set of documents, called passports, with their image affixed upon them. The documents would allow them to travel to the shores beyond Britain without raising suspicion and needing a means of covert entry. Watkins informed them that they would be traveling under the names of Alan and Eli Peredhil from the land of Finland. With their accent and their appearance, it was a plausible deception.
As Elladan and Elrohir were planning to leave England, this seemed like a necessary precaution.
Once they had concluded their business with Watkins and gained adequate instructions as to finding suitable lodgings, the twins arrived at rather large lodging house in Hoxton, called a Holiday Inn. It was a nice enough place, in no way comparable to Valinor, but it did have a television set and when the elves were not wandering the city taking in the sights, they were searching its many channels for an appearance by Xena the Warrior Princess, to which kingdom they hoped to learn during this trip.
After a week in London where they had visited its great towers and temples, the twins sailed the narrow expanse of sea that separated Britain from the continent of Europe. In Amsterdam, they acquired passage to the land that had been known in their time as Frodowraith but was now called Norway, on an errand for Bryan.
They were happy to carry out the mission of finding Frank Miller and ensuring that the Nine still knew nothing of his existence.
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