Chapter 19: Lost Souls
Judith flees her father's anger and both she and Fenrisúlfr meet a strange cursed mortal. Nick is desperate to find Brigid and plots with a pixie and a leprechaun.
"Dress suitably in short skirts and strong boots, leave your jewels and gold wands in the bank, and buy a revolver."
Countess Constance Georgine Markievicz, October 1915
England 1916
The large black wolf slightly stumbled before he warily glanced around at the rich brown mahogany panels which lined the long hallway walls. He picked up the scent of burning tobacco; someone nearby was smoking.
A voice spoke up from a nearby room, "You shouldn't allow yourself to get so angry." Fenrisúlfr looked over to see that it was a dimly lit library of sorts, the only source of light coming from a fire crackling in the nearby hearth. Whoever was speaking was hidden behind the back of a large leather chair.
"I… I didn't mean to time jump here," Judith replied, sounding unsure of what was happening.
"Well, at least you popped into someplace where the sudden appearance of a walking, talking, half-naked wolf and a vixen wearing only a loincloth wouldn't cause a panic," the voice chuckled.
"What games are you playing at," the goddess of time demanded. She apparently knew who was hiding in the chair's shadows.
"I didn't cause you to come here, your little temper tantrum caused a time rift but here you are!" Came a reply.
Fenrir let out a menacingly low growl. He didn't care for the stranger's condescending attitude. "Beware, human, you are in the presence of gods," he added after stepping protectively between Judith and whoever was sitting in the chair.
"Yes, a wolf god who should still be shackled and a child playing as a god," a laugh answered his menacing growls.
"Really, you still think of me as a child?" Judith sighed as she slipped under the wolf's arms. Standing there with her arms crossed, she tried and failed to appear imperious to whoever sat in the chair.
"I'm sorry, Fenrisúlfr, but your companion and I are old acquaintances," the stranger replied as he stood up to face the two gods. "Please accept my apology for not greeting you properly; I was not expecting your visit." The human stood at six feet tall and had a lean build, with a coarse black beard and curly hair on his head. He wore a burgundy knee-length velvet smoking robe over a pair of blue and white striped pajamas. After setting down his smoldering pipe, he gave a bow and introduced himself. "I am called the Count Saint-Germain, among other names."
"How formal you have become over these many centuries, Cartaphilus," Judith scoffed.
"And how little you have grown during those centuries, but then again what is time to a being such as you?" the Count laughed.
"You are no god I know of," Fenrisúlfr growled. "What are you? Just what are you, creature? Are you one of the undead?"
"I am not a Nachzehrer, nor am I dead. I just was foolish enough to taunt what I thought was a Nazarene preacher on his journey to Golgotha, and so I was cursed to wander these lands until he returns."
"Just where are we?" Judith impatiently interrupted.
"This is London in the year 1916. Where did you intend to go?"
"I don't know; I was mad at my father and I just left."
"Did you run away from yet another problem?"
"I don't run away from anything!"
"I heard that you ran from Kang."
"Hey! I was just a kit when the Kangs started their stupid time war."
"You permitted them to create quite a mess."
"In the end, it all worked out."
"So it seems."
The goddess frowned as she gazed into the fire.
"You know, this might be where you're needed," the Count commented.
"Why?"
"How should I know? Perhaps it is just like how I seem to end up where I am needed to inspire or guide another mortal to achieve their destiny."
"But why here?" the vixen asked again, but to the wolf it seemed like she was asking the question to herself and not the human.
"Bah, come on Jude, and let us leave this place," Fenister impatiently growled. "You told me you wanted to see that bard…Elroy…no, Enoch."
"You mean Elvis?" the vixen asked with a smile, reaching over to take his paw. She then frowned and her eyes widened.
"Is there a problem?" the wolf asked.
"I…I…I can't time jump!" Judith whimpered in fear.
"Are you the one doing this to her!" Fenrisúlfr growled as he faced the human.
"Do you think that I could stop time itself?" the Count scoffed. "No, this is not my doing."
"Then what is happening?" the vixen asked.
"There are strange things happening around here," the Count replied. "Maybe that's why you're supposed to be here? I felt a powerful mystical power filled with evil despair just moments before you arrived, something coming from the West. At first, I thought it might be caused by the awakening of a god or devil, but the magic is much older and more evil."
"The gods are always causing mayhem and destruction; why would this be any different?" the wolf sighed in frustration. "Why do you mortals really think Odin, Thor, or the others care about you? You are just playthings to amuse them."
"There are other gods besides those in the halls of Asgard, but most of them have been silent for centuries. Their religions have given way to the followers of either the cross or the crescent."
Kildare, Ireland 1916
Nick paced back and forth inside the apartment. "That evil power we all felt was almost like what overcame me when I was yanked from Zootopia and tossed here into this strange land," the fox said after he pulled back the curtains and stared out a window.
"Do you think another of your kind has been summoned?" Gnat asked, the pixie was sitting on top of the cupboard watching the fox and the lucharachán named Fergus.
"Get away from the window, boyo!" Fergus snapped. "Do you have any idea what would happen if someone saw ye standing there?"
"They would think I was a dog?"
"Even one of those sod-drawn humans knows the difference between a fox and a hound."
"There is an old story that a king had taken a wild fox, tamed it and trained it to do all sorts of tricks. One day, mistaking the king's fox for a wild one, a man killed it. The king was very angry and ordered the man's arrest. He was sentenced to death unless he could produce a fox of equal skill and intelligence. That very day a wild fox came to Saint Brigid seeking shelter from hunters. She took it to the king where it performed with equal skill to the dead fox. The king was delighted and released the man unharmed. Soon after, the fox escaped and returned to its wild state," Gnat called out.
"Aye, everyone knows that old story," Fergus scoffed. "So why did ye bring that up?"
"I just thought since we are in the home of good Brigid, it would be nice that Nick heard an old mortal tale about how she is with foxes."
"Mortals are strange; they also have an old wives' tale that a cure for infertility is to sprinkle sugar on the testicles of a fox and roast them in an oven. The woman should then eat them before her main meal for three consecutive days."
"Why would they even come up with something like that? What is wrong with these humans?" Nick groaned.
"The point is that if ye don't close those curtains, ye might be seen and the next thing ye know is ye art a eunuch," Fergus answered with a grin.
"You know, I've heard that too but they never mention whether the fox is dead or not," Gnat mused.
Nick just stood there with his muzzle open in disbelief.
"Brigid went to meet with some other goddesses; I'm sure she too felt that power. Why do I have this feeling that ye urgently need to see her?" He mused as he sat down on his small cobbler's stool and picked up a worn pair of human-sized shoes. "Something in the back of my mind is warning me that we shouldn't wait."
"Well, we can't go out during the day," the pixie cautioned.
"Aye, that is true," the lucharachán sighed out in frustration and began to yank out worn nails from the shoe's sole. For over an hour, Nick sat and watched the small creature as he repaired first one shoe and then another. Periodically Fergus would pause and glance eastward with concern, for it seemed that time itself had slowed down. "Somehow we've got to get this fox to Bridget and we can't wait forever," he finally snapped in a frustrated tone.
"How?" Gnat asked as he fluttered over to a nearby table.
"The Low Road," Fergus replied. "That is the fastest way to travel, but the nearest entrance is at the old ruins of Brigid's ancient fire temple, and we would have to walk through the center of town."
"How about I go undercover?" Nick suggested. "Dress like one of these humans."
"A disguise?" the pixie said. "Maybe you could wear one of Bridget's dresses and scarves?"
The fox followed Fergus into the goddess's bedroom and watched while the lucharachán tugged open the door of the wardrobe, inside were some very plain dresses. "I'm not sure if this is going to work?"
"Why not?"
"First, we need to hide yer pointy muzzle."
"The scarf pulled over my head will do that if I look down."
"Second, ye are a stranger and someone might turn ye in for questioning by the béarla."
"What about this?" Gnat asked as the pixie yanked on the sleeve of a black piece of clothing.
Nick pulled the garment out of the wardrobe and spread it out on the bed.
"It's a nun's habit," Fergus proclaimed with a grin. "The goddess occasionally takes on this form, but the last time she did so was well over one hundred years ago."
"A fox dressed up as a nun—isn't that a tad sacrilegious?" Gnat asked.
"It's not our religion but no true-blooded Irishman would dare turn in a nun, not even for all the gold in the pot at the end of a rainbow!" Fergus laughed.
Nick gave a long sigh before he picked up the course black garment.
The Count Saint-Germain is a historically enigmatic figure who, since 1742, has rubbed elbows with some of Europe's greatest luminaries, including Casanova, Madame de Pompadour, Voltaire, King Louis XV, Catherine the Great, and Anton Mesmer. He possessed an uncanny knowledge of both science and history, and was charming with a quick wit. There are claims that he spoke fluently in all the European languages, as well as Mandarin, and even some ancient languages.
Comtesse d'Adhémar wrote in 1821: "I have seen Saint-Germain again, each time to my astonishment. I saw him when the Queen was murdered, on the 18th of Brumaire, on the day following the death of the Duke d'Enghien, in January, 1815, and on the eve of the murder of the Duke de Berry." The last time she saw him was in 1820—and each time he appeared to be a man no older than his mid-40s. However, Countess von Georgy claimed to have met him in 1710 and maintained that he did not seem to have aged when she encountered him again in 1760. Others purport to have met him as well, including the French singer Emma Calve, who dedicated an autographed portrait of herself to Saint-Germain in 1897 and the spiritualist C. W. Leadbeater claims to have met the Count in Rome in 1926. Does he still walk among us today or did the Count really die in February 1784?
Judith addresses the Count as Cartaphilus, Pontius Pilate's doorkeeper, whom legends claim is cursed to walk the earth for mocking Jesus and will do so until He comes again.