by John Ringo
“No,” Barbara said. “I very much hope it’s not Dartho, though.”
“He’s not that bad once you get to know him,” James said.
“Yes, he is,” Julie contradicted. “Stuck on himself doesn’t begin to cover it. His guardian is… weird. A Chinese dragon-god with odd tastes. If it weren’t for his actions I’d say that he was on the side of the Enemy. But he has done too much good to believe that.”
“I’m sort of following you,” Barb admitted as they crossed one of the many bridges, this one made of twisted bamboo.
“We’re heading for the First Night get-together,” Julie said. “They’re serving a buffet for dinner. It’s… traditional. We gather for the first meal and new people, like yourself, get introduced. You won’t have to make a speech or anything, just stand up and wave so everybody knows who you are.”
“Ah,” Barbara said. “I feel like I’m in a fishbowl already. This should be great.”
The Philosophy Center was the largest building in the facility. Barb didn’t recognize the architecture immediately, but she suspected it was northern European. Heavy logs made up most of the structure and they had been elaborately carved with looping abstract figures and staring faces.
“It’s based upon a long house,” Julie said, following her gaze. “An Asatru worship center. They call it the Philosophy House because it’s where people tend to gather to talk. And debate. Lots of debate.”
“What is there to debate?” Barbara asked as they entered the high entrance.
“Well, take what I said about anger,” Julie said, frowning. “The Asatru have a philosophy that is far away from Christianity or, to an extent, even Wicca. Their highest calling is to become berserker, angry beyond the level of control. To destroy their enemies as servants in Valhalla and, most important, to die courageously in battle. To die in bed sends you to the Cold Lands, Hel, rather than Valhalla. And the Cold Lands are rather boring. So anger is, to them, a manifestation of their gods rather than a weakness for the demons to exploit.”
“I see,” Barb said, looking around at the crowd in the room. “Oh, my.”
“Yeah,” James said, grinning. “People have a tendency to dress up on First Night.”
In one corner of the room where what she had to assume were the Asatru, a group dressed up in medieval clothing, some of them in partial armor and all of them armed with swords, axes and hammers. One of them definitely went for the “fantasy” version: a tall, statuesque redhead who could have been, might be, a super-model, in a chain-mail bikini with a sword slung over her shoulder. There were any number of what she had pegged as “druid” types, Wiccan probably, in hooded ceremonial robes. The two Buddhist monks were seated with a dark-skinned group she figured for Hindu in elaborate costumes, the women in saris, their hair pinned up with gilded combs, and the men in embroidered pajamas.
She saw Sharice near the front of the room, talking with a group of older women, some of them in outfits that she could only call “witchy.” And Dartho was surrounded by a group of even younger men and women, all of them pierced, spiked and tattooed.
There were more people in “mundane” outfits in the room than in “costume” but it was hard to realize. The costumers just stood out from the crowd. Probably one of the reasons they costumed.
“I underdressed,” she said to Julie, chuckling. “If I was going to dress as ‘myself’ for this, it would have been the little black dress, heels and the pearl necklace. My version of costume.”
“I could have worn my ceremonial robes,” Julie said, shrugging. “But they’re not particularly comfortable unless you’re sky clad underneath.”
“I take it you’re not Christian, either,” Barbara said as they made their way into the room. She still hadn’t asked what sky clad meant, but that description gave her a very good idea.
“No, we’re Wiccan,” Julie replied. “We were originally handfasted but we did the whole official marriage thing with a justice of the peace when we were buying a house. I’m a priestess. We’re both computer consultants in our ‘mundane’ life, which gives us time for the work of the Foundation.”
“I see,” Barb said, shaking her head. “I thought Sharice was a bit of a shock,” she continued, nodding in the direction of the woman.
“Sharice is a doll,” Julie replied, grinning. “She used to be a fifth level adept, a very high high priestess, one of the few that made it out alive, I guess you would say. And sane. Enormous power, you can feel it when you’re near her, and very wise in its use, wiser than I am. When the time came she just… walked away. Now she’s more or less permanently resident here. She’s… offended a lot of the major powers that we battle, so being in a stronghold is a good idea.”
Sharice had gotten up from where she was sitting and now strode through the crowd to the trio.
“I see you’ve found some friends,” Sharice said, hugging Barbara. Barb wasn’t a huggy person, too many people, even females, that wanted to hug her just gave off the wrong “vibes.” But she gratefully accepted one from Sharice, feeling the power that she emitted in this, to her, comfortable setting and basking in it for a moment. “That’s good. Julie and James are good people.”
“So I’ve noticed,” Barbara said. “I guess I really am a mundane, though. This is all a bit…”
“Weird,” Sharice finished for her, smiling broadly.
“I was going to say strange,” Barb admitted.
“Come meet some of my friends,” Sharice insisted, pulling her towards the table she had been occupying. “Of course, most of the people in the room are my friends, but we have to start somewhere.”
Sharice introduced her to a bewildering array of people with names like “Klandar” and “Persemon” and “Vashto” and she came to realize that all of these people cloaked themselves in alter egos. The names were almost like code names for spies and she suspected they had the same reason; a cloak to hide behind. Persemon, a woman in her forties with graying blonde hair, turned out to be a consultant in business administration. Barbara just knew that when she was working she was as “mundane” as it got, probably a bit of a ball-buster in a businesslike skirt-suit. But here she could be… her other face. The face that she assuredly didn’t show to CFOs and CEOs. Which was more true might be the real question.
She was dragged over to meet the Asatru delegation. They ranged from factory workers to more computer consultants. The girl in mail turned out to be, yes, a model and “exotic” dancer named Janea. That threw Barbara for a moment, although she hoped that she hadn’t revealed her shock. She was beginning to be able to accept that her fellow… warriors of the Light, she supposed, were not all, or even at all, Christian. But one that was an exotic dancer was a bit hard to take. She had always pegged such women as, being frank, dumb, low-class sluts. But Janea turned out to be not only friendly and funny but wise and intelligent. She’d have liked to talk to her more, but she was dragged away to meet another group.
The buffet was opened without ceremony, the men and women who had been putting out the covered dishes joining into the crowd imperceptibly. Nobody rushed it; groups just got up from their talking to wander over and serve themselves. There was a keg set up in the corner, close to the Asatru delegation and probably why they’d chosen their seats there. In addition there were bottles of wine and at one point someone thrust a glass into her hand. It was a nice, light white, probably a pinot grigio, and she sipped it as she followed Sharice around, being introduced.
The reception at each group was interesting. Some were apparently friendly, but she could feel a strong defensive reaction from them. However, after a few words, when she didn’t immediately start telling them they were going to hell for being pagans, the defensiveness seemed to melt. Some were overtly hostile and that was harder to overcome. She could tell that Sharice had been right, these people were, by and large, outcasts from “normal” society and they didn’t like the intrusion she represented. But most got over it quickly and by the time she’d made t
he rounds of most of the room the word seemed to have gotten around that she was “okay, for a mundane.”
She also faced something that she had never dealt with before: hero worship. She was used to being automatically accepted and even admired for her looks. But this group mainly was interested in her battle with Almadu and the reactions to her brief synopsis ranged from awe to understanding but respectful nods. The Asatru delegation was especially enthusiastic, roaring in joy when she explained how she’d shot her way into the corrupted church and killed the high priest and his acolytes then blown it up, destroying the avatar. The Hindus touched their heads in honor while the monks, one of whom turned out to be among the top prelates of Buddhism, bowed to her.
She could feel it going to her head and brutally suppressed it. Pride, even in a difficult job well done, was a sin. She knew that her main strength in this group was her constant struggle with sin. And in that struggle, pride could come in on sneaky cat feet.
Julie and James had wandered off at one point but she and Sharice linked back up with them when they went to the buffet. Sharice led the way, talking as she ladled her plate.
“You are a very interesting person, Barb,” Sharice said, taking a spoonful of what looked, and smelled like, Szechwan vegetables. “Very wise for your years and very open at the same time. I can see why your White God has gifted you and called you to the field of battle.”
“It was an accident,” Barbara said, looking over the offerings. Most of the dishes were vegetarian and she had to admit that she still was a carnivore. And many of them were heavily spiced and she’d gotten a strong aversion to spice overseas. “Yes, The Lord worked through me, but my being there was accidental. I thank Him every day, though, for His blessings upon me. Not only the power to do His work, but the life He has given me.”
“You truly believe it was an accident?” Sharice said, chuckling. “Why didn’t you go to Gulfport, which was what you’d been planning for so long? How did you end up in a small town in the middle of nowhere, as far from what you’d been looking for as it was possible to be? How did you, a warrior of the Light, come to be in the one place you needed to be for the battle against darkness? And you believe it was an accident?”
Barb opened her mouth to reply and stopped. Put that way, it didn’t look like an accident.
“Some of us are recruited to this work,” Sharice continued. “I saw Janea at a Renn Faire and could feel the untrained, untapped power in her. I recruited her on the spot. It took a bit for her to realize that the situation was real. And if you think you have problems, imagine hers. She thought she’d gotten dragged into a very bizarre cult. That was, until her first mission. Then there are those among the fringe who have wrapped themselves so into the supernatural that they believed without proof. But those are, by and large, useless to our work. Anyone who really believes in vampires without having met someone who fought them is… essentially broken in a way that is useless. But the ones who are prepared to accept it, are powerful, are balanced — those are precious to us.”
“I wasn’t prepared to accept it,” Barbara said. “I was forced to accept it. It was that or ignore what all my senses were telling me.”
“And then there are those,” Sharice said, nodding. “Most, however, don’t survive. And a sixth order avatar! Good Mother of All! In my prime I would have hesitated at that. Understand, I know you are having a hard time accepting the adulation you are getting. But I am the only person in this room who would stand a chance against such a being. And your weapons skill, much as it pains me to admit it, was crucial. There is no way to have shielded a tac-team against the glamour. Only a high order adept who was also capable of fighting the acolytes and believers could have done what you did.”
“Xiao?” James said, curiously.
“He would have been Augustus’ choice,” Sharice said, nodding definitely. “However, at the time, he was in the hospital. Otillia was in New Mexico, tracking down a manifestation of the Coyote that was spreading bubonic plague. Hertha was in Los Angeles, dealing with a pack of windigo. He might have pulled her off of the latter and set someone like, oh, Dartho or Virdigar on it. Probably would have if Barb hadn’t taken care of it for us. But those are the only three that I can imagine would have succeeded. And now, four,” she finished, looking at Barbara, calmly.
“But you must learn where your power truly lies. Often, the gods will give great power to the believer who is facing their enemies. But it is a capricious thing and it is likely you would not be given as much again, in the same situation. You are going to have to learn to hold it, to use it and to know its breadth and depth. This is something that is rare in Christians, this working with the Power of God. Finding just how much your White God will Gift you, and how. There is more than just the power to do harm. The gods can send understanding of the situation, healing, protection and even a touch of foresight. You need to learn your powers, all of your powers, their extent and form, then blend them into a whole.”
“I wish I had had healing,” Barbara said, sadly. “Kelly literally died in my arms. I wish that I could have…”
“In time, perhaps,” Sharice said, nodding. “There is that in you, I can feel it. You are a very nurturing person, which is the first step to being a Healer. You are a violent one as well. It is a dichotomy that is hard to manage. You do so by revealing the nurturer and hiding the killer. Turning a face of love to the world while the bloody hands rend at your heart. I would say you need to be careful of the bloody hands, but, truly, you must be careful of both. Sometimes our adversaries are tricky to a fault and they will seduce you through your nurturing side if you let them.”
Everyone seemed to have gotten a plate and was eating or already done when a man stood up from one of the tables and walked to the front of the room. He was unassuming, a bit tall, with brown hair and regular features, wearing a long purple ceremonial robe covered in golden stars. Barbara had been briefly introduced but could not for the life of her remember his name.
When he reached the front of the room conversation slowly drifted off and he raised his hands above his head ceremoniously.
“Let the Light shine upon this gathering,” the man said. “Let the Powers of Good guard us and our counsels. Let us feel joy for our triumphs and grieve for our fallen, knowing that the battle goes on and will go on as long as the stars shine and the sun burns. And let us come to know our fellows as warriors of the Light.” He paused and looked around the room, apparently picking out faces.
“We only have three new persons to introduce this time,” he said. “Hsu Hsiu and Jiao Hicheng come to us from Nepal.” He gestured to the two monks and they rose, bowing deeply. “Jiao Hicheng is the Kotan Lama and Hsiu his apprentice. They have traveled here to brief us on some of the more esoteric deities which are being seen in modern China and which we can anticipate will eventually start cropping up in the immigrant areas. I would like to thank them for coming all this way.” He bowed in return and there was a brief spattering of applause as the monks sat down.
“And then we have our newest warrior,” the man continued. “Barb? Could you stand up? This is Barbara Everette, everyone. Most of you know the story and if you don’t I’m sure someone will relate it. Suffice to say that Barb manifested powers of an order that flatly floored everyone in the leadership of the Foundation. She has agreed to join with us in our battle for the Light and against Darkness. She, unusually, is a Christian, but as firm a believer as anyone in this room and a kind and gentle lady. A wise and loving addition to our group. However, anyone who can blast their way through a room full of Maenad worshippers, kill a high priest and acolytes and then destroy and dispel an avatar of Almadu, is far more than a pretty face and a nice smile. Do not get on her bad side.”
Barbara blushed and waved to the scattered chuckles and applause and then gratefully sat down. As she did she caught what could only be called a baleful look from Dartho.
“Well, that’s all I have,” the man said. “You’ve got you
r schedules. The highlighted panels are only suggestions, feel free to sit in on any that you prefer. There’s a previously unscheduled worship service for the Wicca contingent on Friday, that being the night of the gibbous moon. Sky clad is optional.”
With that he simply walked back over to his seat and the conversations started again.
Barbara touched Sharice on the arm and frowned when the woman turned to her.
“Would it be… unwelcome if I went over to talk to Janea?” she asked, diffidently.
“Mother of All, child,” the woman said, smiling. “That’s what this evening is for. Go! I could see that you two bonded.”
She covered the move by putting her plate with the other dirty dishes and getting another glass of wine. She usually only had one but she figured she could handle two if she nursed the second one. Then she wandered towards the Asatru delegation.
Two of the men were clearly drunk, roaring out an off-key song that had something to do with making people die. Several of the others, slightly less inebriated, had joined in. Janea was talking with a bear of a man, big, blond, bearded and hairy to the point that his back hairs were sticking through the weave of his light tunic. Barb came over and sat down, not interrupting.
“… wondered if we’d ever find it,” the man said. “The manifestation wasn’t a shape-shifter, but it was very good at make-up and it was stalking the costuming parties so it just looked like… a made-up human being.”
“What about the feet?” Janea said, frowning. “Its feet were reversed.”
“It had a prosthetic on that made it look as if it had clubbed its ‘normal’ feet and the others were for show,” the man said, shrugging and taking a drink of beer. “Of course, when the tac-team blew in the door, they were in big trouble. I’d warned the Special Agent that bullets weren’t going to hurt it.”
“Iron,” Janea said, frowning again in thought. “Fire. Cold steel?”
“Cold steel,” the man said, half drawing his sword. “One thrust, a jolt of power and it dispelled. Badly injured one of the tac-team members. Fortunately, it was HRT and they more or less expected it. They hadn’t been briefed on its resistance and they really tore the special agent a new one.”
