Chapter 3

Prologue; Scottish Highlands, near Fort William

It was one of those storms, that only come along every two, or three, generations. One that would be a subject of conversation for many years to come, whenever men discussed the weather and its destructive inclinations.

For three days it raged, and people feared that the final days were upon them. Many gestures were made, to ward off evil, and children, who had considered themselves much too old for such behavior, were seeking comfort in the protective arms of their parents, and older siblings.

Thatch was ripped from roofs in great swatches, leaving the occupants exposed to nature's wrathful reminder of, just who was really in charge. Stone cottages, which had stood for centuries, were demolished by sizzling bolts from Zeus' mighty fist, the erstwhile inhabitants fleeing, to seek shelter elsewhere. The Gods were blowing off a little steam; let mortals beware - divine tantrums could prove hazardous to one's health.

An ancient, moss encrusted, truck-sized boulder was reduced to rubble, in the blink of an eye - revealing the entrance it had warded, since the forging of the world.

Fembane Manor, Derbyshire, England

"Well man, what is it, can't you see I'm busy?", demanded the large man, as he turned his attention from the cowering young maid at his feet.

Alternately tightening and relaxing his grip on the riding crop in his hand, Clayton Andrew Madison, 24th Earl of Bramley, glared at the young man, who'd dared to enter his study without permission.

"Beg pardon, Milord!", the frightened secretary offered, "But there's a repugnant, ill-mannered man at the door. Claims he has news that you've been waiting for."

"Scar running down the right side of his face, white streak in his hair, just above the ear?", the slightly mollified Earl demanded.

"That's him, Milord - nasty looking bugger.", the man replied.

"Show him to the kitchen, and have Cook fix him a bite to eat - tell him I'll see him, soon as I've finished here.", His Lordship directed.

Bowing in acknowledgement, the young man left the room, carefully closing the door behind him.

James Whitlock, Privy Secretary to The Earl of Bramley, shuddered, as faint screams began to penetrate the thick portal at his back. It was extremely unwise to get crossways of His Lordship - people frequently went missing, after having done so.

Lord Bramley lit a cigar, and gestured for the scar-faced man to take a seat before his desk. He waited in mute silence, until his secretary had departed the room, closing the door as he exited.

"Well Silk, what have you got for me, were the rumors true?", Lord Bramley inquired, no slightest hint of emotion apparent in his tone.

"Aye, Milord, it's just as you heard.", Alan "Silk" Jeffries - former SAS captain - replied, "It's a small cave in the hillside, not much bigger than this room. The back wall appears to be polished granite, with pictures, and a strange script, engraved on its surface. The main picture depicts a veiled woman in the act of hammering out some object she's placed on an anvil before her. There's a forge in the background, and various weapons are in a rack on her right. The forge, and script, emit a dimly glowing, reddish light."

"Any ideas on the ethnic origin of the writing?", Bramley asked.

"Sorry Milord, it's unlike anything I've come across before.", Silk continued, "The locals say that several experts have been up from Oxford, but none of them are able to make heads nor tails of it. There was even some Yank from Boston, but he didn't know any more than the others. They all agree it's the most significant discovery in modern times, but don't really know any more than the herdsman who found the place. The local Vicar has joined forces with the Lutheran and Methodist preachers. They're ranting on about how it's Satan's work, and have forbidden their congregations to go near the place. One fanatic tried to deface the scene with a hammer and chisel, but he couldn't even put a scratch on it. Witnesses claim that the chisel started to glow white-hot, and the man started screaming whilst smoke poured from his fist. He's in the hospital at Edinburgh, with all the flesh burned from the bones. He'll never use that hand again!"

"Post a couple of our men to keep an eye on the place, and have them submit a daily report on any visitors that show up. I don't lend any credence to all that religious claptrap, but a wall that defends itself against vandalism, is definitely beyond the pale. See if you can ferret out anyone, who can make sense out of the place - try some of those Celtic History experts in Wales. Report back to me every week, unless something important occurs. Sooner or later, someone will show up, who can crack the puzzle. When they do, make sure they don't get the opportunity to talk to anyone else before we can interrogate them. Keep the local fanatics stirred up, as we don't want casual sightseers crowding around, making it difficult to spot our quarry.", The Earl commanded.

"Very good, Milord, I'll get right to it.", Silk complied, "How forceful should we be, if a likely target appears?"

"Anything, short of permanent injury, Captain. I want the individual, or group, in good condition for the questioning. Who knows, I made decide to let them live, should they prove useful to us."

Birthday Party - Freehold, Cambrian Mountains, Wales 2006 C.E.

The High Priest of the Sacred Grove was cheerfully running around, getting in everyone's way, as they tried to decorate the great hall in preparation for Pagan's sixteenth birthday celebration. The busy workers suggested that she take her reverend ass off to pray, or fast, or something - anything which would keep her out of their hair. One even suggested she go find Pagan, and get him to tune up her sanctified engine - a good fuck being just what she needed, to settle her down.

Unfazed by this good natured hazing, she stuck out her tongue, and merrily resumed making a pest of herself.

She spied Didi and Dierdre O'Rourke trying to rattle several of the wrapped presents, and ran over to rain on their parade.

"If you two don't have anything better to do, there's plenty of pots that need scrubbing in the kitchen, and no shortage of spuds that still need to be peeled." she barked at the identical, fourteen year old, girls.

"No thanks, Gram!" they chorused, unimpressed by her rebuke.

"Bubba sent us to do an advance recon.", Didi started, "He wants an..."

"update on the current gift count.", Dierdre kicked in, "He also wants..."

"to know what kind of goodies are on the dining table.", Didi wrapped it up.

"Why that wicked scamp!", chortled their grandmother, "You mean he's too lazy, to come sneak a peek for himself?"

Abandoning their two-sided narration, Didi switched to complete sentences.

"Oh no, Your Reverend Grannyship," Didi smirked, "he's much too busy, trying to powder and diaper twenty seven babies, while Maera and the others rag him about how any one of them could it in half the time!"

"It's too funny for words!", a giggling Dierdre leapt in, "He's having to be so careful not to knock over that gaggle of toddling little niecelets, that are all trying to hug Dada's legs - babbling away at the top of their lungs. He tried to get us to take some of the load, but they totally ignored their loving aunties, and refused to let go of him."

"Oh my word!", laughed their grandmother, "What on earth compelled him to start changing diapers? He certainly never tried that with the first batch."

"He lost a bet with The Wives, about which one would pop first, and they're not letting him renege!"

This was just too much for the delighted High Priest, and she doubled over, grabbing her stomach, as wave after wave of unrestrained laughter rebounded about the great chamber.

All about the room, bustling women paused from their labors, to beam their gratitude at the smirking duo, thankful that the pair had diverted their grandmother from her interfering ways.

Glowingly replete from the wonderful fuckfest he'd just experienced, Pagan wrapped his sweating, well perforated sisters into a snugly embrace, and - while squeezing their delightful little buns - reflected on the day's events.

Everything had been just perfect, he decided. Everyone had been there, his family, clansmen, teachers, and friends. Life just didn't get any better than that. Though he'd concealed it well, he really didn't care about the presents, and would've been quite contented to have received none at all. What could you possibly give someone, who already had it all. The new laptop from Gunny and Maggie was great, but it paled into insignificance, compared to the gratitude he felt for Gunny's return to robust good health. He'd playfully wrestled with the twins for possession of the mouse, but would gladly have given the computer to them, had they really wanted it. The same applied to all the other gifts, none of which could have competed with being amongst those he loved.

As he drifted off into a satisfied sleep, a proud deity looked upon her, umpteen times removed, grand child, and was well pleased with what she saw.

"Rest well, my young champion, enjoy this peaceful interlude while it lasts.", Brighid murmured, "For the time to commence a new forging is fast approaching, and you'll soon be much too busy, for idle reflection."

Interlude;

"You sent for me, Reverend One?", Pagan inquired, meticulously respectful before the gathered crowd.

"Yes child, I have a task, that Our Lady requires your assistance with." the High Priest responded.

"Command me!", he fervently requested.

"Been getting a little bored, have you?", she smilingly inquired, "Afraid that you'll get too domesticated, too pussy whipped from servicing most of the available females in Freehold. Frightened you'll be required to restore our numbers, all on your. Or, maybe you're just ready to escape from tending to the fifty four, official, offspring already gracing us with their presence."

Pagan remained mute, unable to think of an appropriate response.

"Relax child, I'm only teasing you a little. I realize you're probably getting a little desperate for some of the action that three years of preparation have primed you for. You wouldn't be who you are, if the lack of a proper assignment didn't have you champing at the bit."

"There's been a remarkable discovery in the Scottish Highlands. Our base at Fort William has reported the uncovering of a site that's remarkably similar to the one here. The report states that the script embellishing the find is very similar to the one here. Since you're the only mortal capable of translating it, Brighid wants you to go up there and check it out."

"Shall I go alone, Reverend One?", he asked.

After a short consideration, she shook her head.

"Take the Bookends along with you, as there's no telling what they'd get up to, if you weren't here to ride herd on them. You're the only one they'll listen to, and I shudder to imagine some of the possible catastrophes they might create during your absence."

Ignoring the excited squeals coming from behind him, he bowed his head in acceptance.

The assembly dispersed, and Pagan was amused at the excited twins, as they rushed to his side. What had he let himself in for, he mused, as they took his hands.

Highland Holiday

"By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes." - "MacBeth", IV, 1

Pagan and the driver exchanged amused glances, as they rode toward their destination.

The two magpies in the back seat hadn't even paused for breath, since leaving the Cambrian Mountains behind. They were oohing and aaahing over practically every sight they passed, frequently squealing in amazement as some noteworthy spectacle presented itself.

The Shade, who'd been assigned by the council, had been to London many times, and Pagan, though he was often as delighted as the girls, had grown up surrounded by metropolitan vistas. But the girls had never been more than five miles from Freehold, and it was a totally new world for them.

They stopped for a short layover in Glasgow, so the girls could enjoy a little shopping, then continued on to Fort William, stopping only when the need for food and sleep became necessary.

They checked in at the Shadow Base, spent the night, and, accompanied by a local guide, set out at dawn on the eight mile trek to their final destination. The girls, recharged by a good night's sleep, resumed chattering at warp speed, making the trip seem to fly by, as Pagan and their escort were entertained by the nonstop barrage of verbal artillery. It seemed only a few minutes had passed, when they arrived before the entrance to the cave. Taking electric torches from his backpack, the guide passed them out - the twins having fallen silent upon their arrival.

"Someone's here,", the concealed watcher whispered into his cell phone, "two men, and a couple of teenage girls, just went inside."

"Stay alert.", said the voice on the other end, "I'll be right there."

"Oh wow!", Didi whispered, "This is so neat. She looks like she could just step out of the wall."

"Yeah,", Dierdre murmured back, "It's like she's just taking a break between strikes."

Pagan ignored his sisters, as he began copying the writing into his notebook, translating mentally as he wrote;

"Behold! The Master Smith, as She hammers out the mortal plane!"

"Thrice rings Her Hammer, thrice flares The Forge's flame!"

"Thrice roars The Dragon, thrice hisses the Quenched Chain!"

"Thrice times three circlings, must thou make about the tree."

"Sinister in aspect, must thy true direction be."

"Down the steps, Thy Fate bides for thee."

"Are they still in there?", the new arrival asked.

"Affirmative Sergeant Major!", the watcher responded.

"Which direction did they appear from?", The ex sergeant quizzed.

"That way,", the watcher pointed, "from Fort William, maybe."

"I'm going in, maintain your position.", he ordered.

"Aye Sergeant Major, maintaining position.", the watcher affirmed.

"Good morning all!", the ex sergeant greeted, as he entered the cave.

"Good morning Sir!" piped the twins.

"Morning!", the guide replied.

Concentrating on his penmanship, Pagan absently nodded a response.

Pretending to be inspecting the wall, the old soldier surreptitiously examined the notation, which Pagan was entering beside the perfectly copied script.

"Well, you folks have a nice day.", he called back, as he departed the scene.

Lord Bramley tightened his grip on the hair of the young upstairs maid, as she struggled to swallow all of his spurting cum.

"Much better, you little tart.", he moaned, "Nothing like a good taste of the crop for providing incentive to little bitches like yourself."

Maintaining his grip, he reached over and hit the speaker button on the ringing phone.

"Yes, what is it?", he snapped.

"Silk here Milord.", came the voice from the speaker, "We have a possible..."

"Hold up for a moment, Captain!", the Earl interrupted, "I'm not alone."

Putting the caller on hold, Bramley ordered the weeping girl to get out, smiling as he watched her run from the room - tears streaming down her cheeks.

"Go ahead Silk, you were saying?", he continued.

"We've found a possible target, Milord", Silk reported, going on to relay the essence of the Sergeant Major's recent phone call.

"Is the target in a vulnerable position?", queried the Lord of Fembane Manor.

"They were still in the cave, when the headsup came in.", Silk verified.

"Let slip the hounds, Captain, tag 'em and bag 'em.", Bramley ordered.

Aye, Milord, consider it done!", Silk affirmed, before disconnecting.

They were a tired, happy, little group, as they made their way back to base. Pagan was concentrating on answering the girls' questions about the wall's message, while their fascinated guide listened in on their conversation.

None of them heard the silent phttts of the air rifles, as they discharged four darts in rapid succession.

Pagan barely managed to retain consciousness long enough, to press his medallion against the notebook, and utter a phrase in the ancient tongue. As the notebook flared into fiery obliteration, the darkness overwhelmed him, and he knew no more.

In Durance Vile

Pagan awakened abruptly, feeling no after-effects from whatever substance had been used, to render him unconscious. He was restrained, at wrists and ankles, by some kind of stout, buckled cuffs, which were attached to a padded frame. He was semi-reclining at about a thirty degree angle, and was completely nude.

Turning his head, he saw that the others were similarly treated, with the girls placed on either side of him.

"Are you okay, Didi?", he asked, seeing her open her eyes.

Fearing unseen listeners, she simply nodded, and smiled at him.

Seeing him turn to her, Dierdre mimicked her sister's response.

"I'm really sorry I let you guys get into this mess.", he apologized, "Some Big Brother I turned out to be! Gram's going to be so disappointed in me."

Both girls immediately shook their heads, wishing they dared give voice to their total disagreement. If they hadn't been distracting him with questions, he might have been alerted to the impending attack. Both silently vowed to keep any, similar, future interrogations confined to secure locations - that is, if they had a future to look forward to.

Realizing the reason for the twins' silence, Pagan reverted to mentally rebuking himself, for having failed to protect his sisters.

"Why is he still wearing that thing around his neck, Captain?", Lord Bramley asked, as the two men watched the monitor. "Why didn't you remove it?"

"We tried everything, save a cutting torch, Milord!", Silk replied, "There's no clasp, and we ruined a diamond coated blade, without even scratching the blasted thing. We tried a bolt cutter, and only succeeded in snapping one of the jaws off. You said, no permanent damage, so we refrained from the use of fire."

"Very well, let's let them worry about their impending fate, until tomorrow evening. I want to start with the tall one first. The sluts probably don't know anything, but if he doesn't cooperate, we'll see if watching the bitches bleed will loosen his tongue.", Bramley concluded.

Interlude; Freehold

"I want to thank you all, for responding to the summons so promptly!", the High Priest began, "We may have an emergency on our hands. Pagan, the twins, and the guide from Fort William, have all vanished without a trace. They left to inspect the site, over twenty two hours ago, and haven't been heard from since. Someone was sent out to find them, when they hadn't returned by dark - but whatever occurred, did so without leaving a single clue. If they were snaggled, whoever did the deed was very good. I want you all to get with your best people, and see if you can come up with a concrete plan for finding them. Report back here, as soon as you have something we can use."

The council recessed, each member already concentrating on possible scenarios. It would be a very long time, before any of them would see their beds again.

"Do you know what this is?", Silk asked, showing Pagan the object in his hand.

Pagan merely stared back, refusing to respond in any fashion.

"Very well,", Silk resumed. "have it your way. It's a special soldering iron, used for melting gold during certain industrial processes. So much better than heating an iron rod, don't you think? Nothing like technology, for facilitating our little chat. You might want to reconsider your silent approach - much less painful, not to mention damaging. This might have been completely unnecessary, had you not destroyed that notebook."

The quirk of an eyebrow, was Pagan's only response, his spread-eagled confinement preventing a shrug.

"Feel free to scream as much as you like - this room is quite sound-proof.", Silk remarked, as he touched the glowing iron to Pagan's torso.

For all the effect it had on Pagan's flesh, the iron might as well have been at room temperature. It's touch didn't even redden his skin.

"It must be the damned necklace, Milord!", Silk commented to the seated man at his side, "I can feel the iron's heat, even through the heavy glove."

Bramley nodded his head toward Didi, indicating Silk should switch his efforts to her.

"It's really such a shame, to mar such tender young meat with hideous scars." Silk threw at Pagan, as he turned to the helpless girl, "Sure you won't change your mind?"

Pagan ignored this, praying that The Dragon's blood was as potent in the girls, as himself. Else, he'd soon be telling them anything they wanted to know.

Silk pressed the hot iron to the terrified girl's belly and - nothing! He might as well have been poking her with a stick. Didi visibly relaxed, as the realization sunk in. It was all she could do, to keep from laughing in Silk's face.

"Shall I try the other one, Milord?", Silk inquired.

"No need Captain, they're mirror images, so...", Bramley was interrupted by an odd gurgling sound, coming from the smaller man.

An orange-colored foam was drooling from the Shade's mouth, as he convulsed against his bonds. He writhed for a moment, then collapsed into an unnatural stillness.

Stepping over, Silk pressed his fingers to the man's neck, and attempted to locate a pulse.

"Dead Milord, some sort of poison, no doubt.", he reported.

"Very well, Captain!", snapped the pissed off Earl, "Get him down, and have the body disposed of. Meet me back upstairs, and we'll decide our next course of action."

As he watched The Shade's body being carried out, Pagan swore a silent oath, the man's death would not go unavenged.

Interlude;

"What do you have for us, Master Adept?", inquired the High Priest.

"A certain ex SAS Sergeant Major was spotted in the vicinity of Fort William, just prior to the disappearance of our kinsmen.", Sion responded, "The man's a known associate of one Alan "Silk" Jeffries, ex SAS Captain - both men were cashiered out for excessive brutality toward prisoners, and are currently in the employ of Lord Bramley. Bramley's a known collector of ancient antiquities, and has the reputation of being totally unscrupulous. Both Scotland Yard, and MI5, have been trying to pin something on him for years, to no avail. Both agencies have lost several key personnel in the attempt, but have been unable to prove Bramley's involvement. Our sources in London claim that, should something of a terminally permanent nature befall them, both agencies would be happy to close their files on the whole lot - and wouldn't look very closely, for the source of their untimely demise."

"Do you have a possible location in mind?", she asked

"Bramley has a small estate in Derbyshire, Fembane Manor, and the locals have seen Jeffries on the premises a number of times, in the last few weeks. We believe our lost ones are probably being held somewhere on the grounds. The local residents all despise the man, and suspect he's behind the disappearances of eight young women, over the last few years. If action is indicated, we needn't fear local intervention. The man has no allies, aside from hired thugs. I propose a reconnaissance in force. If they're there, we'll have the necessary numbers to effect a rescue.", Sion concluded.

"If they're there, Master Adept, raze the place to the ground, and be sure none of the principals see another dawn!", she commanded, "Fembane Manor indeed, the very name is an abomination!"

"Of course, Reverend One, did you think I'd leave the Sasson scum intact? No one fucks with my children, without paying the toll!", he exclaimed.

Pagan sucked in his breath, as the blade drew a line of pain across his chest. He focused on finding his center, using tantric discipline to shunt the pain into a mental storage compartment. He knew that he would have to pay a severe penalty later, when the bottled agony was released - but, for now, he could maintain a stoic demeanor, allowing his enemies no reward for their efforts. At least they were leaving the girls alone - for now.