LES MUSICIENS DU MONDE
2011, 2012, 2013, 2014, 2015, 2016
A CROSSOVER STORY
Chapter Fifteen
October 2013
Extremadura Region, Spain
[Cáceres, Sunday, 5:30 AM]
The full moon was sinking into the western horizon while the sun was slowly rising in the east. The night sky was turning navy blue with slow encroaching purple and orange. Daylight was coming. Wilfredo stirred awake from deep slumber. He rubbed his eyes and looked around the bare stone walls of his room. The lone crucifix on the opposite end of the room was in view. He sat up then got on his feet. Standing, he stretched his limbs and back. The bed was comfortable enough to sleep on. He took off his plain nightshirt and walked to the crucifix, naked. He got on his knees, put his hands together, and started to pray. He remembered why he was here in the first place. He was afraid.
Two weeks ago, he walked along the edges of the camp. To clear his head after a day of intense training. It was dark with no moonlight, save for the cold light of the stars. This sort of night unnerved him. He may have been able to see in the darkness and can tell what was moving around, but tonight was different. There was something moving along the edges of the camp. Something unnerving. He tried to rush back to camp but fear gripped him. The wind picked up and the sound of leaves from nearby trees picked up.
He turned around to face what was nearby, he glimpsed robes flowing in the darkness. Whatever, or whoever the people were, their magic was strong. Conflicting with his energy like static electricity does to clothing. The sensation was unwelcomed and whatever they were doing, he knew if they continued, they would poke holes inside, in places he would like to remain shut. Then in a moment, a presence was right at his left ear, and as the person whispered, he deduced it was a woman. And perhaps the group nearby were women as well. Her voice was soft as velvet, tender as a lover, and her words dark as they were, rang with sweetness.
He felt their words rolling around inside. Attempting to unravel his resolve. The ladies used images of the owl, the cat, and the bat to encourage him to divulge information he may have from his romantic pasts. He repeated and again he knew nothing. And when he admitted his ignorance, the ladies grew bolder and used their magic to delve deeper inside. Then he knew, this was an invasion of his mind and soul.
He felt their tendrils, coming from their words and their hands, reaching deeper. Until something was prodded that was best left alone. In a blind rage, he unleashed it upon the woman behind him and to the other women in the vicinity. His power surged like a winter gale. The women in blue robes fled into the night. Wilfredo noticed his own form. Glowing a pale white light, with black electrical bolts crackling. Then he felt a pulse of energy; his aura's seal formed below him. Normally the script was Hebrew and Latin. But then he noticed it changed. Becoming runic. The last thing he remembered was falling to his knees. Then the sound of footsteps. Followed by blackness.
Since that night, for two weeks he's tried to recall the images that came in a blinding light. He remembered a girl, whose face was hidden, and far more intimate moments. When he focused on those moments he remembered her touch, the softness of her flesh, her lips, her hair. But what also confused him were the places they were in. They didn't match. In fact, the more he focused on those images, the girl disappeared.
Instead, he was walking around in an ancient forest. Snow fell gently upon the ground, and he could see images of woodland creatures like deer, wolves, bears, the surprising image of an Irish Elk, and creatures that cannot exist on Earth. Then he saw dead bodies on the ground. Some were humans, others were werewolves, while the rest were cursed creatures that haunt the night.
Naked before his Lord on the cross, he prayed for solace and guidance. He normally gripped his rosary. But now, he prayed without it. His mind concentrating fiercely on the prayer. The more he prayed his aura within settled down and concentrated around his inner core. However, that small corner in his mind was disturbed still. The place the lady in blue robes attempted to access with her honeyed words. He continued to pray, trying to settle down the deeper power within, the core itself. As he concentrated, he heard a voice speak to him.
"Your blood is your legacy. Your power is your legacy. Choose your path. Choose your path! Choose—"
Then he heard a knock on the door. Wilfredo turned to the door, "Quién es? (Who is it?)"
"Soy yo. Padre Muñoz. (It's me, Father Muñoz!)"
"Espera. (Hold on.)"
Wilfredo looked up at the crucifix, with Christ on it. He sighed and got up, grabbed his linen shirt and trousers. He tucked in his shirt and walked barefooted to the door. He opened it and saw Father Muñoz, "Buenas días, señor. (Good morning, sir.)"
Father Muñoz came in with a white robe with a black hood. Indicating his Dominican order. However, the rope belt around his waist indicated the greyness of human existence. His rosary was hidden beneath his robes. "Buenos días. Vine a ver su salud. ¿Puedo pasar? (Good morning. I've come to check your health. May I come in?)"
Wilfredo allowed the man into his quarters. He closed the door and went back to his bed and sat down, "¿Puedo regresar con los demás? Han pasado dos semanas. (I've been wondering if I may return to the others? It's been two weeks.)"
Father Muñoz calmly responded as he pulled a chair and sat across from Wilfredo, "Tan pronto como haga un chequeo rápido. Ahora por favor, sean pacientes. (Just as soon as I do a quick check. Now hold still.)"
Wilfredo sat still as the monk took out his wooden rosary from underneath his robes. It appeared aged by time but showed the dedication the man had for the faith. Moments passed, with only the sound of birds outside singing. Wilfredo sat silently as the monk chanted under his breath to examine his aura. Physically and emotionally, he felt well. However, he still felt off kilter. Like when the Catholic priests when he was a boy conducted a botched exorcism, awakening his powers by force. This was different. Whatever the ladies were attempting to do, was being repaired by the priest. Wilfredo closed his eyes and calmed down.
The monk can tell Wilfredo was silently trying to maintain calm. He could sense it. Even his rosary was rocking back and forth by the young man's energy. The energy felt heavy, but not oppressive. Like walking into a grove of old trees where he can hide, knowing the Lord will protect him. The monk can even feel the wind outside change. Instead of the crisp morning air, he can sense something colder. Something akin to winter and the smell of pine. The monk then stopped chanting and puts his rosary away. His quick check and last minute spiritual healing was completed.
Wilfredo opened his eyes when he felt the monk taking his hands to examine them. The monk closely examined his hands. Strong to wield a weapon or a tool for labor, but a softness to handle music. Caught between the outdoors and its trials, and the internal world where only music can express his true feelings. Caught between prayer and meditation. Then the monk let go of Wilfredo's hands.
The monk relaxed and looked to the young man in front of him, "Tienes un conflicto adentro. Entre la calma de vuestra profesión y la violencia, pronto os encontraréis. (There is a conflict in you. Between the calmness of your profession, and the violence you will soon find yourself in.)"
"No lo entiendo. (I don't understand.)"
"Respóndeme esto: ¿Fue la primera vez que no sabías cómo invocabas tu poder? (Answer me this: Was this your first time when you didn't know how you conjured your power?)"
"No."
"¿Entonces eres consciente de tu situación única? (Then you are aware of your unique situation then?)"
"Un poco. Pero todavía hay mucho que no sé. (Somewhat. But there is still a lot I don't know.)"
The monk nodded, noting Wilfredo's honesty. The monk urged him to describe more what he was currently feeling. The voice that rang loudly in his memory and dreams. A deep, powerful voice. He didn't share that the voice sounded a lot like the Woodsman he met in Poland. Instead, he told the monk what the voice told him.
"Tienes un legado. Tu sangre es tu legado. Tu poder es tu legado. Elige tu camino. Y la voz repitió esas palabras. Elige tu camino. (You have a legacy. Your blood is your legacy. Your power is your legacy. Choose your path. And the voice repeated those words. Choose your path.)"
"Qué más? (What else?)"
"Nada más. Eso fue todo. (Nothing else. That was it.)"
The monk nodded and stood up, "Bueno, a pesar de esto, tiene buena salud y es libre de regresar a las tropas. ¿Le gustaría desayunar con nosotros? Después de la misa. (Well, despite this, you are in good health and free to return to the troops. Would you like to join us for breakfast? After mass that is.)"
"Por supuesto. Gracias, señor. (Of course. Thank you, sir.)"
The man smiled and Wilfredo smiled in return. The monk left the room and the door shut behind him. Wilfredo lied back on the bed and stared up at the ceiling for a few moments. When he sat up again, he looked to the crucifix again and breathed a sigh of relief. He dressed up and gathered his belongings to leave. Once he was ready with everything, he headed for the dining hall where the monks ate their breakfast after an early morning mass. But no one was there. He sets his stuff on the stone floor near the door. He walked out and headed for the chapel.
Inside the chapel he sees the monks completing their morning mass. Chanting prayers in Latin and surprisingly, Greek. He stood against a stone pillar and watched with his arms crossed. Silently observing out of respect for the order. The chapel, spacious as it was, was sparse in decoration. Nothing to distract the monks. The only thing that stood out was the Christ on the cross, the Virgin Mary, and Saint Peter. The chant rang out and reverberated across the stone hall. Calming, focusing, and warding away evil from the space. The smell of frankincense and mir wafted in the air. The morning sun's light illuminated the interior, adding to the calming atmosphere the prayers layered the space. Once the monks were done, they headed for the dining hall for a modest breakfast. Wilfredo joined them.
[Sierra da Gata Mountains, 8:00 AM]
As knights patrolled the perimeter of the encampment, and men continued to train in the distance, a rumbling was heard. Those who were on patrol stood on guard as the stone arch, the Door to Anywhere appeared from the ground. Alongside the stone arch were carvings, that of the Catholic faith. With images of the lamb and the Virgin near the top, at the top was Jesus Christ and, in his palms, the Holy Spirit. Along the arches were throned branches of the jujube tree, with berries and leaves. The stone doors opened outward, and the men can see the buildings of Cáceres and Wilfredo coming to meet them.
Wilfredo's footsteps went from cobbled road to dried grass. The doors closed shut behind him and then the Door returned to the ground. Wilfredo walked up the hill and greeted the soldiers with a salute. They allowed him passage and he as he walked on the path, he returned to camp. He walked past the blacksmith and further on, passing the medics, he approached the tents where the generals and captains in charge of everyone present, where they conducted their meetings.
He approached his captain's tent. When he entered, Gascón turned around from checking the maps laid out on the table, "¡Sr. Pereira! ¡Estás mejor! Nos diste un susto cuando esas mujeres se acercaron al campamento. (Mr. Pereira! You're all better! You gave us a scare when those ladies approached camp.)"
"Disculpe, señor. ¿Quiénes eran esas señoras? (Apologies, sir. Who were those ladies?)"
Gascón's face turned serious and returned to examine the maps, "Son un peligro para los magos y los místicos. Su ideología es blasfema para muchos. Persiguen el conocimiento arcano y prohibido de todo el mundo. Desenterrar secretos que es mejor enterrar. (They are a danger for magi and mystics. Their ideology is blasphemous for many. Pursuing the arcane and forbidden knowledge from across the world. Unearthing secrets that are best buried.)"
"¿Ocultistas? ¿Pero no fueron los genuinos asesinados hace mucho tiempo? Todo lo que tenemos ahora son blancos de clase media aburridos que quieren comulgar con 'el otro lado'. O en lo que quieran creer. (Occultists? But weren't the genuine ones killed off long ago? All we got now are bored middle-class white people who want to commune with 'the other side'. Or whatever they want to believe in.)"
"No estés tan seguro. (Don't be too sure about that.)," Gascón spoke as he circled key positions in landing in North Africa, for landing, and where to summon the Door to lead the troops through, "Claro, muchos han regresado al verdadero camino. Pero igual que muchos no. Porque todo lo que han encontrado, abrazado calurosamente como muchos abrazan la misericordia del Señor. (Sure, many have returned to the true path. But just as many have not. For whatever they have found, embraced it warmly as many embrace the Lord's mercy.)"
Wilfredo was curious but said nothing. Noting this, Gascón approached this from a new direction, "Eres un místico. Recuerda, estás entrenando para proteger a la gente. Y encarnar las cualidades de—(You are a mystic. Remember, you're training to protect people. And embody the qualities of—)"
"Los pastores. Perdón por interrumpir. Continúe, señor. (The shepherds. Sorry for interrupting. Continue, sir.)"
Gascón nodded and continued, "Tienes que hacer las preguntas apropiadas. Como habéis compartido con otros, sois un estudiante de historia, un violonchelista para una orquesta, deberíais pensar de esta manera. ¿Qué tienen en común las artes y la academia con las damas de azul? (You must ask the right questions. As you have shared with others, you are a student of history, a cellist for an orchestra, you must think along these lines. What do the arts and academia have in common with the ladies in blue?)"
This question was a curve ball Wil hadn't anticipated. He carefully approached it, knowing the answer is as dangerous as the question. He looked down and noticed a scorpion, nestling calmly by the table's leg. He picked it up and the scorpion was surprised at first but returned to being calm in his palm. Then the answer came to him.
"En la música, nos atraen los límites de lo que sabemos. Nos ponemos a prueba para ver si nuestra comprensión de los fundamentos se mantiene firme. Y si hay espacio para crecer, exploramos lo desconocido. (In music, we are attracted by the limits of what we know. We test ourselves to see if our understanding of fundamentals stand firm. And if there's room to grow, we explore the uncharted.)"
"¿Y por qué es eso? (And why is that?)"
"Para avanzar. (To go forward.)"
"¿Hacia qué? (Towards what?)"
"Verdad. En cualquier campo que tomemos. Buscamos la verdad. (Truth. In any field we take. We seek the truth.)"
"Y es por eso que las damas de azul son peligrosas. Explotan este anhelo por sus fines. (And that there, is why the ladies in blue are dangerous. They exploit this longing for their ends.)"
Wilfredo nodded and carefully laid down the scorpion. It crawled back to its original spot. He looked at the creature, noting how it was both protective and resting at the foot of Gascón's desk. He now had a clearer idea as to why the scorpion was the order's sigil.
He then left Gascón's tent and walked five minutes to get to his own. Once he entered his tent, he sat down on his cot. There was a simple morse code machine on his desk. The design and instructions included were to bypass the Vilgaxian surveillance net currently tracking communications of human and esoteric forces coming to do battle against him. Hence, the palantirs were for the moment, banned from use since a few weeks ago. When the intelligence was sent to all esoteric alliances.
He switched it on and pressed the buttons in a combination as instructed. Then once it was setup, he started to first contact his family and friends in New York and Philadelphia. Telling them he was fine and in two weeks he'd be marching to battle. Then he contacted Danny, his team, and Lizavetta in Canada. Then, the rest of LMM in Mali, who are heading northward to Vilgax's base and prison. He gave Cecilia his encouragement, his love, and blessings. He couldn't reach Shinji who was said to be sailing in the Arabian Sea. He prayed for his safe journey west.
Ural Mountains, Russia
[Virgin Komi Forests]
In the untouched wild forests of Western Siberia, deer grazed the land. The birds sang in the trees and the air was crisp. Then the sound of footsteps crunched the dry leaves. Oskana Yurlova was walking, alone. She was still within the perimeter of the town's territory. The boundary marker was several miles away from her position. But she wasn't there for the deer, nor the hares. The hunters were assigned that job. No, today she was attending another matter entirely. And for that, she hauled a wooden sleigh.
The wooden sleigh was made of Siberian Larch, durable enough for what she was coming closer and closer. The sight of men and women, hung from the branches with a Biblical verse etched onto their skins. An abbreviated line from Galatians 3:13:
"Cursed is everyone who is hanged from a tree."
She snorted at their bloated sight. They've hung from the branches naked save for the Biblical verse, carved above the symbol tattooed on their chests. An upside-down symbol of the Holy Spirit emblazoned with black fire from below. Occultists, they were, who settled in Siberia, far from the urban metropolises in western Russia. Their presence close to her village was noted and she hunted them a week before. The village's policy for occultists was extermination. Occultism for the magi and mystics in Russia was dangerous, as many believed it led to the downfall of the Czar and ushering in the Bolsheviks. Their corrupting influence as documented by Rasputin and the sect he belonged to was proof enough. A danger for the commoner and the powerful.
She leapt from one tree to the next to loosen the dead from their ropes. One by one, they hit the ground with a thud. She dragged the five dead onto the sleigh and hauled them back to the village. The rolled-up ropes hanging around her. Oskana's innate stamina and strength was greater than the average man or woman. So, hauling the dead back wasn't an issue. But when her strength and stamina are enhanced like this, she knew her time of transformation was near. She occasionally stopped to take in the sound of the wind among the branches, the singing of birds, and the sight and smell of deer nearby. She smiled and would then continue back to her village.
Sometime later, she returned. The village guard opened the gates for her. But she pointed to the dead occultists on the sleigh, "Их нужно сжечь! Собирайте дрова! (They need to be burned! Gather the wood!)"
She ordered the guards and they moved quickly to follow her orders. Soon, the people in charge of cremating the dead rushed to her, "Мы позаботимся об этом, миледи. Не беспокойтесь. (We'll take care of this, my lady. Do not trouble yourself.)"
"Вы добры. Смотрите, чтобы от них не осталось ни волоска. (You are kind. See to it there is not a hair left of them.)"
"по Вашему желанию. (As you wish.)"
And with a bow, the men hauled the sleigh to a spot just outside the village's walls where occultists were cremated. A pit of ashen earth. Oskana walked past the walls and saw hunters sorting out the game they've trapped and hunted. Judging by the number and how they were sorting them out, the village should have more than enough for the winter. As well as a surplus for those who would be affected during the conflict.
Hare, wild fowl, reindeer, and trout were collected and sorted. The hunters were exchanging information with some of Oskana's staff on the nature of the hunt, and anything regarding the alien threat.
"Несколько шпионов в последнее время летали в лесу, используя свои костюмы. И по словам охотников из близлежащих деревень, их видели направляющимися на восток. (Several spies were seen levitating around the forest lately, using their suits. And according to hunters from nearby villages, they were seen heading east.)"
"Поиск эзотерического сопротивления не вызывает сомнений. Но, в отличие от южан, сопротивление здесь проявляется не только в людях, но и в земле и сезонах. (Searching for esoteric resistance no doubt. But unlike the southerners, resistance here is not in just the people, but the land and the seasons.)"
"Действительно. Когда мы отправим игру на американский Юг? (Indeed. When shall we ship the game to the American South?)"
"Коротко. Но сначала договоритесь о игре для горожан. Затем организуйте излишек для американцев. (In short order. But arrange the game for the townspeople first. Then arrange the surplus for Americans.)"
"Включая пшеницу, ячмень и рожь? (Including the wheat, barley, and rye?)"
"Да. Организуйте излишек, как я сказал. (Yes. Organize the surplus as I have instructed.)"
"Как пожелаете, моя госпожа. (As you wish, my lady.)"
She nodded and left the hunters to do their work. As she walked toward the town's long hall, she noticed representatives in charge of food distribution coming to the direction of the hunters. Helping them out with the game collected. As everything was running in order, she headed for a Russian Orthodox church located just across the way from the long hall.
She then opened a door near the altar and descended a flight of stairs. The descending hall was lit with candles which then led to a circular chamber that glowed with numerous candles. The picture of the Virgin Mary holding the infant Jesus was hanging across the room. She headed for her spot, unfolded a rug that was there, and knelt on her knees. She then put her hands together and began praying. The candles flickered in the still air. But reacted suddenly with a wave of energy emanated from her. This wave of energy emanated with every breath she took. But there was one candle at the center of the altar.
It was larger than the rest. Colored purple, this large candle burned calmly as opposed to the other candles in the chamber. It was half gone, and for Oskana, this was something she heeded. The wolf within will emerge, causing her transformation. Judging by the candle's state, she had only two weeks. This happens once a month, coinciding with the full moon. To focus on the inner chamber within, she prayed to God, and meditated on the silence she received.
In the silence, with Oskana focusing, her shadow went from a kneeling human to a kneeling wolf. The rumbling of her inner beast was heard and felt. She breathed in and out, calmly. Her transformation will come. And she needed to make sure it doesn't come out until the allotted time. But that didn't mean she is fearful of it. Far from it. She had accepted this part of her nature, long ago. It feeds into the beliefs of the people she rules over, and in turn, the land they all resided in.
Then came the second silence following the Lord's silence. The silence of night itself. In her concentration, she can hear the nightly breeze, the cooing of owls, the breaking of twigs by nocturnal beasts the scour the land for prey. The flapping of bats from the nearby mountains. She even imagined herself prowling the land as the wolf, seeking prey both animal and human.
When evening came for Europe, and the eventual night. Everyone slept in their homes, their huts, or their tents. And back in Spain, Wilfredo awoke with a start.
Extremadura Region, Spain
[Sierra de Gata Mountains, 1:23AM]
Wilfredo got up from his cot and with the interior only dimly lit by starry night outside, with the waxing moon covered by cloud. Wearing only a white linen nightshirt, he quickly went and knelt in the middle of his tent. He put his hands together and began to pray.
Something frightened him in his sleep. At first, he thought it was what the ladies attempted to do to him two weeks ago. But it wasn't. Instead, he was frightened by images of places and a time he only read about in folklore, the imaginings of writers who were inspired by esoterics. He dreamt again of the ancient forest, the woodland creatures that roamed the land, and the axe. Before, he had seen the axe wielded by a man he came to know as the woodsman. However, this time, he was wielding the axe. He was the one who killed a werewolf, and other dark creatures that lurk in the night.
He prayed to the Lord, chanting the Lord's prayer with every ounce of courage he had. He dreamt of not only killing a werewolf, but a woman who transformed into a werewolf. He felt the cold on the skin, as real as winter's. This struck a chord in him. He continued to pray. Clenching his hands tightly. Then he heard a noise.
He turned his head sharply and looked over his right shoulder. The noise was from outside, "Quem está aí? (Who's there?)"
He heard nothing, "¿Quién está ahí? (Who's there?)"
He repeated one more time, "Who's there?"
He then heard the growling of a wolf in the darkness. He focused his vision and can faintly make out the outline of the predator. Though there were substantial number of wolves in the Iberian Peninsula, there were few in the region. But the wards around the camp were to ward off demonic entities, hungry ghosts, and recently witches and occultists. There were also local hunters called upon to shoot any wolf or other night predators from entering the camp. For one to enter without being spotted was near impossible.
The golden eyes of the wolf peered back at his own gaze. His own honey-colored eyes. Both sets of eyes didn't blink for long moments. Then the 'wolf' disappeared, without making a sound on the grass. He was tempted to leave his tent to follow it. But fear made him stay put. He returned inside his tent and recited the Lord's Prayer again. Once he calmed down enough, he returned to bed. Tomorrow was another day of training, and one day closer to deployment.
To be continued
This took longer to finish due to life, work, and personal health. But I've finished. Read, review, critique and I'll see you soon.