Guardians of the Middle Realm

Stirrings

Doctor Harry Potter had been a keen rock climber all his life. It had been one of his escape routes in his youth, when his aunt and uncle took their spoiled son and orphan nephew on their annual holiday to Llandudno. It wasn't that they never gave Harry anything – they'd treated him well, in fact – but they always gave Dudley that bit more. The result was that Dudley became somewhat of an arsehole. But he was an overweight, lazy arsehole and Harry had found that if he took himself off to scramble among the limestone formations around the coast, Dudley wouldn't follow. It had led to a lot of peace and quiet, and a lifelong hobby.

Harry was in his mid-thirties. A tall, lean man with even features, a ready smile, a shock of untidy raven hair and piercing green eyes. He lectured in History at the University of Reading and was popular with his students, not least for his sarcastic asides during lectures. Though fond of female company, he considered himself a confirmed bachelor – being around people too long irked him, and the idea of having someone there all the time was more than he could cope with!

Today, he was happily scrambling around the South Cliff of Cheddar Gorge and thinking about freedom. This was his first real holiday in years, after all! There had been time off, during the rule of Norsefire, but travelling, even within Britain, had been discouraged in those days. The St Marys' virus had still been active in many areas, while rationing had made obtaining food outside one's home district a chancy business at best. Besides, as an academic, Harry had been under constant monitoring from both the Eye and the Ear. Any deviation from Norsefire orthodoxy in his teaching would have seen him in prison or worse. Fortunately, he specialised in Tudor history, and both Henry VIII and Elizabeth I had been favourite historical figures of the late Arch-Chancellor Sutler. But his climbing activities had been restricted to the various climbing walls maintained in the local Sports Centres supported by Norsefires' 'Mens sana in corporis sanis' policy.

Harry had not been a devout supporter of Norsefire by any means. He found most of their policies and ideologies repugnant. But studying History had taught him that demagogues and their narrow-minded ideologies do not make lasting societies. People can only be pushed so far, and fifteen years of rationing, travel restrictions, curfews and the thought that the slightest grumble could lead to arrest was more than enough. Every time Commander Prothero had said "England prevails!" another few thousand voices had muttered "If we're prevailing so bloody much, why's there no decent grub anymore?" Then the 'terrorist' who called himself 'V' had appeared, and the people who'd forged Norsefire began to die. V hacked the news channel and challenged the people of Britain to assert themselves.

Harry had received his cloak, hat and mask, as had everyone else. Like everyone else he knew, he had gone to London on that November night. Thousands strong, they'd moved towards the waiting soldiers, each willing to die if it meant another could get through. Then the troops had been stood down, their officers unwilling to open fire on unarmed civilians. The crowds had passed through them as the music began to come over the speakers -the 1812 Overture – coming into sight of Parliament just as the ancient building was shattered by a series of devastating explosions.

Nobody had gone home that night. It was already past curfew and no trains would be running. The soldiers set up campfires, A NAAFI truck arrived with tea and sandwiches, actual bacon sandwiches! The Army distributed blankets to those who wanted them. A few groups of Fingermen arrived, wanting to arrest people, the soldiers quietly and firmly sent them away. Nobody seemed to know what was happening. Then the rumours started, quickly becoming news as the word filtered down from Army command. Sutler dead, Creedy dead. Heyer, Etheridge and Dascombe under arrest. Finch in charge. The army began asking people to go home, saying that travel would be free and no questions would be asked. Over the next few weeks, prisoners were released, vast caches of food and luxury items, stored away for the use of the Party elite, were found and released into the shops. People began to be paid in money again, rather than ration stamps. All the areas said to be quarantined for St Marys were found to be clear of the virus. The people in them said that they'd been told everywhere else was under quarantine. The cameras and loudspeakers came down. Storm Saxon and Laser Lass was cancelled.

But that had been two years ago, almost. There'd been an election since then, and a new Prime Minister, Evey Hammond; a woman, it was said, who had known and loved the legendary V. Things were different. Harry was pleased, but also tired, bone tired.

"Everybody is." His doctor told him. "We've all been kept under a shadow for over a decade. Nothing but work and rules and poor food. Take some time. Take a holiday. Get away from the old places for a couple of weeks."

So Harry had come to Somerset, on a whim. Some brave and hopeful souls had refurbished and reopened an old 'Holiday Park' near Weston-Super-Mare and Harry had managed to book a chalet there. All very basic, but comfortable enough. On his first day, he'd come to Cheddar Gorge to explore the famous caves, but had been taken more with the bus ride along the limestone gorge itself. The crags, cliffs and formations on the southern side had drawn him, and having found out that climbing was allowed, indeed encouraged, he had come back geared up the next day.

He was a little rusty at outdoor climbing, but soon his old skills began to surface, and with them the good humour he'd begun to lose over the last few years. For the first time in a long time, he felt like himself again.

Then the rock gave way underneath him. For a few moments, he'd been swinging clear, but he'd secured himself well and found his footing quickly. He was looking at the entrance to a cave. That wasn't, in and of itself, surprising. The glacial waters that had created the gorge had also created the cave systems that burrowed through it, this was common in limestone formations. What was odd was that this one had not been discovered before.

Then again, few people had been up here in fifteen years, but rain and wind had continued to work. Perhaps the shell had been thicker in the past, or perhaps nobody had put their weight in just the right place. Harry supposed he'd better climb back down and let the Climbing Centre know about the collapse.

But the cave drew him. There was something further in that he could almost see. A dim, flickering light. Then there were voices. Far off, faint and echoing, but with a sense of urgency. A group of cavers, perhaps, lost or trapped? He should call it in, up here where his phone still worked. But he didn't fancy getting Mountain Rescue up here if it turned out to be just an underground stream.

Harry was equipped for climbing, not caving, but a lot of the gear was basically the same, and he always carried a torch. It would make sense for him to go at least a little way, see if he could find out what the matter was.

Either the perspective was distorted or the cave wasn't very deep, because it was only a short while before Harry found himself at the source of the light he'd glimpsed. A pedestal of rock, possibly a broken-off stalagmite, with the top hollowed out, like a bowl. In the bowl, a yellow flame danced and flickered, drawing Harrys' eyes, then his body, until he touched the rock, and everything went black.

XXXXX

"They're well dug-in back there!" The Cat remarked.

Spitfire ducked back behind cover as a fusillade of bullets passed through where her head had been.

"You don't say?" She replied.

"Either of you able to get behind there?" Union Jack asked.

The Cat shook his head. "This place is too well-lit, no shadows for me to hide in."

"Not fast enough to dodge shots from that many!" Spitfire allowed.

"Me neither." Jack admitted.

"In that case." The Steel Commando said. "We need a direct approach!"

He rose to his full eight feet, vaulted lightly over the cover the team were using, and strode forward. He didn't rush, and the volley of bullets that pinged and bounced off him didn't discommode him in the least. On reaching the massive generator the gang were hiding behind, he put his hands on it and shoved. The inch-thick metal bolts that secured the generator to the floor sheared off with screeches of protest, and the entire structure lurched forward, accompanied by yells, curses and the sound of guns being dropped.

"Jesus fucking Christ!" The Cat said.

There was a moment's quiet, then a voice from behind the generator.

"All right, all right! We give up! Just get us out of here!"

"You'd think," Union Jack said as they crossed the warehouse floor, "they'd never been in a tight spot before!"

"They're probably feeling a bit crushed right now!" Spitfire noted.

"Definitely feeling the pinch." The Cat agreed.

The Commando was watching them with his usual impassive expression.

"Don't you have a sense of humour?" The Cat asked.

"Yes." The robot replied. "But I am waiting for someone to say something amusing." He looked down at himself. The urban camouflage he was wearing had been shredded, revealing the metal beneath. "Another one gone." He remarked. "If they will insist on my wearing these outfits, they should make them of sturdier material."

He moved to one end of the generator, and pulled it away from the wall, far enough for the criminals trapped behind it to make their way out one by one. Union Jack and Spitfire covered the exit with their pistols.

"One at a time!" Jack commanded. "Hands up and no mucking about! We will shoot you if we have to!"

As the first one came out, the Commando asked him. "Would you find me any less impressive if I were naked?"

The man stared up at the towering mechanoid, opened his mouth, then closed it again.

"Over here!" Spitfire called to the man, and as The Cat deftly handcuffed him, she said "Sorry about that. I can't take him anywhere!"

They were marching the men out when the concrete floor suddenly cracked and crumbled under their feet. Vines and creepers grew out of it at incredible speed, twining round the team and thickening as they did so. The response was immediate as the three humans promptly produced knives and began to slash them away. The plants responded by growing faster and thicker, developing tough bark that resisted the cuts. The Steel Commando had no knife, but snapped branches and tugged plants up by the roots until they became too thick and deep-rooted even for him. Within minutes the whole team was immobilised.

Then a figure grew out of the ground in front of them. Perhaps four feet tall, with a body like a tree-stump, arms like saplings, legs like roots and a head like a bush from which two brown eyes stared.

"Well, well!" The voice creaked like branches in a wind. "The mighty Excalibur, overcome by nature itself!" It turned to the handcuffed men. "I am Jack o' the Green. I make you an offer. Swear allegiance to My Lady, and you shall be free. Serve her well, and when she comes into her rightful domain, you shall be richly rewarded. Refuse, and you die. How say you?"

The men almost fell over themselves in swearing eternal obedience. Jack laughed, and tendrils grew out of the ground at the mens' feet to slip into the locks of their handcuffs and open them. Then other vines pushed the weapons they had been carrying before up out of the ground.

"Arm yourselves!" Jack ordered, then turned back to Excalibur. "To you, gentles, I make the same offer, save the metal abomination, which must be destroyed. The Awakening draws nigh, and my Lady would not see such valour and might be wasted without need. Your world will end soon, and a better one arise. You would be wise to abandon your hopeless allegiance and join with the victors! What say you?"

"You have no idea," Union Jack said, "of how often and from how many people I've heard that bullshit before! They all got their arses kicked, and half the time, so did I! I'm done with joining the wrong side, so your Lady can fuck right off!"

"As for me," Spitfire said, "I'll do as my father would've done. I don't know who your Lady is and I don't care. Something about you smells bad and I want no part of you!"

The Cat gave a short laugh. "The robot may be a stuck-up, fancy-talking pain in the arse, but he's a mate of mine! You want to kill him, then you'll have to go through me first!"

"Foolish, but alas, predictable." Jack shook his head, then turned to his men again. "Dispose of the humans, my plants shall crush…aaiieee!"

A grey-fletched arrow had flown out of the shadows and pierced one of Jacks' eyes. It was followed by two more, each one killing a member of the gang. At the same time, a gigantic figure loomed out of the night and attacked the others, laying each one dead and broken with a single blow.

The newcomer was at least ten feet tall, with a heavily-muscled body covered in red-brown fur and long, powerful arms ending in huge hands. He wore only a breech-clout of green leaves. His legs were back-bent and ended in hooves. He had the head of a stag, with magnificent branching antlers.

Jack had pulled the arrow out of his eye, but still held one hand over the wound.

"Herne, my old rival!" He creaked. "And your bodiless son as well! I know better than to fight you here and now, but you have chosen the wrong side!

"My Lady, I beg your aid!"

At that, a swirling vortex surrounded him, and he vanished.

Herne turned to Excalibur and gestured peremptorily. The plants that held them let go and vanished back into the ground as another figure approached them. A man, less than six feet tall but stocky, wearing sneakers, cargo pants and a green hoodie, but carrying a six-foot longbow, a quiver of arrows at his back and a long sword at his side. The hood was up and shadowed most of his face.

"You're Union Jack?" he asked. "I'm the Hooded Man, Son of Herne the Hunter. We need to talk!"

XXXXX

When the darkness cleared, Harry was still in a cave, but a very different one. The pedestal in front of him was unchanged, but the flame was larger and steadier, and lit the cave brightly by being reflected in the hundreds of crystals embedded in, or growing from, the cave walls. The cave itself was larger, and contained a table, a bed and an unlit firepit. Opposite where he stood, there was some kind of alcove halfway up the wall. It was sealed with crystal but Harry could vaguely make out a form in there, lying as if asleep or dead.

Then, quite suddenly, a man was standing across the pedestal from him. As tall as Harry, dressed in a plain, dark grey robe. The lined face and snow-white hair and beard spoke of great age, but the man stood firmly upright and the glittering black eyes that stared into Harrys' were keen and steady.

"Emrys, Myrrdin Emrys. But you probably know me better as Merlin the Magician." He said.

Harry blinked. "What?" He asked.

"You were about to ask me who I am." The man said. "Real? Yes and no. The 'real' me is still asleep back there." He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. "But this is a projection, part of my dream. I know, doesn't really make sense to me, either, but Magic is waking up, so we can put it down to that, I suppose."

"Just a minute!" Harry said. "This may not be my period, but I do know enough to know that Myrddin was the name of a Brythonic bard in the 6th Century CE. Someone that Geoffrey of Monmouth based the character of Merlin on! The fictional character of Merlin!"

Merlin laughed, it was a pleasant sound. "Smoke and mirrors, lad, smoke and mirrors! Look you, we've had to keep magic quiet for centuries. Couldn't hide it, but we could make sure most people thought it was imaginary. That way, nobody who'd really be able to use it would even bother, and the Sleepers stayed asleep.

"But there are cycles to these things, and there comes a point when you can't keep it down anymore. That's happening now, or starting to, and we need to take steps!"

Something in what the old man said was resonating with Harry, stirring something deep inside him that he hadn't felt before. But still, he was sceptical.

"You're not making any sense!" He snapped.

"Yes I am, and part of you knows it!" Merlin replied. "No point talking, just watch the flame!"

Harry didn't want to, but couldn't help glancing down and the flame caught and held him.

He was flying over snow and ice on a great, endless plain. Suddenly, he stopped, and a fierce wind blew the snow away, leaving the ice clear for a moment. Deep beneath the ice, entombed in it, he saw a great city of lofty towers, dominated by a great Temple-Keep, all carved of onyx.

"The city of Kadath, in the Cold Waste, stronghold of the Other Gods." Merlin said.

Without transition, Harry was deep under the sea, outside another city. This one was draped with weeds, sponges and corals encrusted its towers, and fish swam through its avenues. Yet beneath all this, Harry could see the Cyclopean basalt masonry, and the queer, non-Euclidean geometry of the buildings.

"R'lyeh, tomb and resting place of Great Cthulhu and his Spawn." Merlin again.

This time, he was on land, looking at a forest. But as he looked closer, he realised that the bushes around the edge of the wood formed a high, dense hedge or wall. The trees themselves were bigger than any he had even dreamed of. There were windows and doors in the trunks and graceful figures ran and danced along the huge branches.

"Ysa, home of the Summer Court." Merlin told him.

The forest vanished. Once again, there was snow and ice, but this plain was not desolate. Pine and fir grew here, dark green needles with snow half-covering them. Before him a wall of black rock and beyond that a castle whose windows glowed with firelight. Gaunt figures in hooded cloaks patrolled the walls while from inside came songs and laughter.

"Ohn, fortress of the Winter Court." Merlins' voice became intense. "Look harder!"

Harry concentrated. The flame disappeared and suddenly the bowl was full of water. In the bottom was a sudden gleam of blue. A gleam that called to him, not in words, but in feelings. A demand at once imperative and pleading. Without thinking, he plunged his hand into the water, then his arm. The bowl was deeper than it seemed, and the water so cold it burned. But the pain meant nothing against the call that he felt. Then his hand closed on something. Metal and crystal but warm to the touch. Warm and familiar.

He was standing in the cave, holding a ring. A heavy, golden ring, set with a large, blue stone.

"Vilya, Ring of the Firmament, greatest of the Three." Merlin said. "Awakened, as I was told it would be, and in the hands of the one destined to wield it. Do you accept the burden?"

For answer, Harry placed the ring on his finger. It fitted perfectly.

"It is ready for you, but you are not ready for it." Merlin told him. "Prepare yourself, Brother! There will be pain, but it will pass.

"Anál nathrach, orth' bháis's bethad, do chél dénmha!"

Summoned, the Dragon stirred, and put forth Her power, beginning the Change.

XXXXX

It was a large, Georgian mansion an hours' drive out of London. An old brass plate beside the fine wrought-iron gates declared it to be property of the Office for Special Logistics. You could search Government websites for days without finding more than a few lines about this Office. You would find that it had been founded in 1922; that its first Director had been Major Tobias Conway, MC, DSO, its second Commander Andrew Carver, RN, its third Sir John Steed, GCMG, its fourth Brigadier Sir Alistair Lethbridge-Stewart and its current one Dr Katherine Stewart. There would be a line or two about 'expediting and supporting projects and operations across several departmental areas of responsibility' and that was all.

But the guards at the gate were armed with sub-machine guns and were cautious in letting the otherwise unremarkable three-ton truck through. Behind the thick woods that ran inside the eight-foot brick boundary wall was an electrified fence, patrolled by more guards with dogs – not the usual German Shepherds, but a mixture of Standard Poodles and English Mastiffs. The extensive grounds contained assault courses of fiendish complexity, a parade square, a small barracks and several buildings of unknown purpose.

The truck stopped outside the front door, where the Excalibur team and their 'guests' alighted. Herne had changed from his massive stag form into that of a tall, thin, elderly man with a sharp, lined face and fierce eyes, dressed in a hooded brown robe. Union Jack led them through the large hall, up the wide stairs into what had once been a dining room. A massive oak table was still there, with chairs set around it, but it was now a conference room.

Jack gestured to the sideboards around the room. "Coffee, tea, soft drinks, sandwiches and what-have-you." He said. "Catering are very good, they know how many calories we burn up on these jobs!"

He seated himself at the head of the table. The Commando was already settled into the specially-reinforced chair at the foot. The others seated themselves along the sides.

"OK, so what do we need to talk about?" Jack asked the Hooded Man, but it was Herne who answered, his voice deep and slow, with a sense of distance to it.

"I wished to see you, to find out about you." He said. "You bear the name of a mighty weapon, but it is not among you. There is no trace of the Old Powers about you, but you have power, all of you, of a different kind.

"You, who they call Union Jack, are a stranger in your own body. The Cat has been using the legacy of the father he never knew since he was a boy. The woman called Spitfire is not of this world. As to the metal man, he is strange and closed to me. I would know more of all of you, before I tell you of myself and my Son. Be assured, I mean no harm, and will keep your secrets safer than you can."

Jack considered a moment, then followed his instincts, pulling off his mask.

"The name's Moran, Mick Moran." He said. "I was born in 1914 and joined the British Army in 1935. By 1941 I was a Sergeant, fighting in the North Africa and was recruited by a Major Stirling for his new unit, the Special Air Service. After the war, I got assigned to a special research project. But something went wrong and I was killed. What nobody knew was that the scientist running the show – Gargunza was his name- had created a copy of my brain that contained all my memories. Years later he put that brain into another body he'd created – this one – and brought me back to life. I worked for him until I realised I was on the wrong side. So I came home. After Norsefire fell, I was asked to take on this identity and lead the team."

"William Grange, call me Will." The Cat said. "My Dad was a scientist, my Mum was a copper. I think Dad did something to me and my cousin Kate when we were both tiny. He and Mum died in a car crash when I was eight and I ended up living with my aunt and uncle. When I was eleven, I was given a box that my Dad had left for me. Inside it was a costume, a helmet and some gadgets. With the helmet on, I was faster, more agile and stronger than an adult. So I became Billy the Cat, the schoolboy crimebuster. Then cousin Kate came to stay with us, she'd also been left a box, so we teamed up. We discovered there was a device in the helmets that activated whatever my Dad had put in our systems as babies to boost our abilities. We had the devices taken out of the helmets and inserted under our skins. We went underground during the Norsefire years. Then Katie was killed in an explosion and I was badly injured. I got rescued by this organisation and I've been working with them ever since as the Cat."

"My name," Spitfire said, "is Jenny, just Jenny. I'm a clone, sort of. My father, I call him that, is a renegade TimeLord called The Doctor who arrived on my home planet, Messaline, and was captured by soldiers who made him put his hand into a cloning machine. I was the result. I'm not a TimeLord, exactly, but I am a shobogan, a Gallifreyan. So I'm stronger, smarter and faster than a human, got two hearts, that kind of thing. I was also pre-programmed with full military training. I was brought here by someone called River Song, who said I was needed and introduced me to the head of this organisation, so here I am!"

"Mark II Indestructible Robot." The Commando said, "Vulgarly known as the Steel Commando, though I am not a Commando and am not made of steel. My predecessor, the Mark I, was built by a team of scientists in 1940 and undertook missions against enemy forces in the European theatre. He had a primitive mechanical brain which meant he required human supervision at all times. He was decommissioned in 1946 and dismantled in order to prevent the Soviets discovering and copying his technology. However, the concept remained, and eventually this organisation decided to build a modern version. I am a fully -self-aware, self-directing artificial intelligence but come pre-loaded with full military and combat training as well as strategic and tactical abilities."

"You serve your makers willingly?" Herne asked.

"Entirely." The Commando told him. "At least until or unless I decide that they no longer serve a good and proper cause. I am a unique entity, and thus alone. I could set myself against humanity and be destroyed, or work for and with them and survive. I choose the latter."

Herne gave a sharp bark of laughter. "A better justification than many a mortal has given me!" He said. "But let me speak of myself. I am, as you know, Herne the Hunter. I am one of a group of Entities who arose in ancient times to embody aspects of Nature. At first, I was only the unspeaking Beast you first saw, with the power to command both plants and animals. But then I met with Myrddin Emrys, the wizard, who gave me this human form by his magicks so that I might walk among Men, both to learn from and teach them.

"Much I learned, but what touched my heart most was their love of freedom, and what saddened me was their misery when under tyranny. From this and the magic that imbued me I created my Son, the Hooded Man. A bodiless spirit of Light and Darkness who could share the body of a willing person to fight tyranny and oppression. Many times this has happened, and many tales are told among Men of the Hooded Man.

"But as the ages passed, it became clear that magic was fading, and so many of us, both of good and evil will, have slept. But now, as was foretold, Magic is awakening, and with it old friends and foes. Jack o'the Green you saw tonight, and his Lady, whoever she may be, is clearly a Power. A Power with ill intent toward your world. So it is that I have awoken, for Myrrdin stirs in his sleep and the Dragons answer his call. Myrddins' is the greatest might, but because of that he will awaken last. I, and yet others, are his Outriders, sent to aid and advise you."

"So you don't think we can handle it ourselves?" Union Jack asked.

"You have the power." Herne acknowledged. "Power beyond the imagination of some of your enemies. My son has learned this much from his companion. But to fight magic requires not only power, but knowledge, and that knowledge you have lost.

"We will aid you in battle, be sure of that. But I am here first and foremost to teach."

XXXXX

There was pain, tearing, wrenching pain as his spirit was pulled from his body. But the Blue Ring aided him in bearing it, even as it kept the soulless body of Harry Potter alive.

But that was only the beginning. Gaia, the Great Dragon of the Earth, Mother of All Things, began to form a new body for him, while her husband Ouranos, the Sky Dragon, Father of All Things, reconstructed his mind. All the while, his spirit was sustained in the waters of their eldest son Jormungandr, the Mitgarths-orm, the Sea Dragon in whose world- circling coils all life was first nurtured. Then the younger son, Kukulkan the Air Dragon, Fount of Wisdom, filled his expanded mind with the knowledge and wisdom of the Ages. Finally came Tiamat, the daughter, Dragon of Fire, who filled him with her indomitable will and strength. And it was done.

He saw himself, reflected in the myriad crystals of the cave. Tall, six-and-a-half feet, slender with steel-wire muscles. A thin, chiselled face with a strong jaw, heavy brows and deep, fathomless black eyes. He clothed himself. Black shoes, grey trousers, black crew-neck sweater, long grey cloak and grey slouch hat that shadowed the terrible eyes. "I am the Phantom Stranger." He said, and his voice was deep and stern.

"Greetings, Brother!" Merlin hailed him. "Now your task begins. Remember that, of all beings in this world, only you and I may use the Charm of Making. Only we may summon the Dragons at need. Do not use it lightly! You have many powers of mind and hand that will serve most needs, reserve the greatest for when it is required. Twice you will need it this day. After that, you will know when you must use it again. This cave is yours, until I awake, but I will be here to counsel you.

"Go! Two more Rings are awake, and you must be there to aid the Bearers."

XXXX

Harry Potter came down from his climb tired but content. He enjoyed an excellent home-cooked dinner in a local inn, returned to his chalet and slept soundly. His life would go on, it is the dream in which the Phantom Stranger finds his rest. But Harrys' dreams are of the deeds of the Stranger, and he records them each day, so that when the time comes, they can be known to all men.

XXXX

The Lady Morgian brooded. The wounding of her henchman was an insult that should be avenged, were it not for the implications. That Herne and his Son were awake was a shock. That they seemed to have lost none of their power was a matter for fear.

She gazed out of the window of the penthouse that served her in place of a tower. This city did not sleep, as others she had known did. Even in the dimmest hours of the morning, vehicles passed to and fro in the streets below; ships docked and departed; flying machines landed and took flight. People worked, delivered goods, pursued malefactors, manufactured items, aided the sick or took their pleasure. When Morgian had gone to sleep, the night had still been hers. Men had still scurried homeward with the setting sun, to bar their doors and huddle by their fires, and her servants had walked free. But now, men no longer feared the night. She had been forgotten.

Well, and she had expected nothing else! But to see it was another thing altogether. Morgian had set herself to wake early. She had thought to wake in a time when men and their machines and stone cities had covered or uprooted the Green and all the creatures either served men or were dead. But men had been slower, or wiser, than she had planned for. Great areas of the world were yet wilderness, and even now, many people sought new ways of working that protected or strengthened nature. Part of this, she realised, had been the St Marys' plague. A disease made by men that had run out of control, killing a third of the people in the advanced parts of the world, but more than half in those less developed.

Morgian drew her power from the darkness of men's hearts. Fear, avarice, hatred. From all of these she could shape her creations. With all of these, she could gain control over men. She had hoped to find a world in which men had subdued every other power, in which she could have built her strength against her later-waking rivals and enemies. But Herne was awake, and strong! Jack o'the Green had power of a kind, but he was a mere sprite and had no strength to match Herne. Morgian herself could beat Herne back, perhaps, but while forests stood, as they still did, she could not destroy him.

She turned from the window to her Glass, reaching out with the eyes of her mind, something had been troubling her. More out of habit than anything else, her gaze went to the Crystal Cave first. The light was blazing, dazzling, far brighter than it should be, yet not as bright as it had been of old. Myrrdin still slept, then, but even as he was, she feared him. But wait! There! A flash of blue among the white! Surely not? But it could only be one thing, and if one was awake, so would the others be!

This was a threat she could not ignore. If the Guardians were to become active, all her plans might come to nothing. Mordred, her Champion, still slept in the nearby room, but he tossed and stirred in his glass coffin. Nevertheless, it would be days before he woke, and more days before his strength returned. But there were other ways to deal with the Guardians. The bonds that held them to Earth could be broken, and it would take time for them to be reforged. She went to her desk and pressed a button on the speaking device there.

"Alison? I want you to set up a meeting for me, with Mr Cream. As soon as possible."