A Journey Begun - Chapter 19 - Interlude 2
#23 of Saga the First - Book One - A Journey Begun
Short little interlude between story arcs.
"Thanks for helping me with those books."
"No problem, luv."
"You going to stay?"
"Yeah might as well. I don't have anything to do anyway."
Brandon sat back with a cup of tea in his hands. His good friend Connie sat next to him, snuggled up against his side as she relaxed with a book in her hands. It was the middle of the week, but he was on a much needed break. Working nonstop for almost a whole year doing nothing but hard police work was tiring enough, more so that he'd travelled to another state and another country during that time. After he'd learned from his good friend Daniel that his neighbour had moved in, he spent a lot of his free time hanging out with her. She was his closest friend next to him, after all. Her library was smaller than the one she owned in London, but she cared for it all the same. With a new location came new equipment, like the desktop computer she'd provided generously for patrons to surf the Internet on, and the bigger living space in the apartment above the unit, and no dangers from home had visited her at all. She was happy, and he could tell.
He took the time to reflect on his journey here. After growing up in a military family, he'd taken on his father's mantle and joined the service. Soon he'd risen to a prominent position through his hard work and physical sacrifice, and thus he was offered the once-in-a-lifetime chance to undergo Selection and join the SAS, something his father had achieved before him. Naturally he took to it and soon he wasn't just a squad mate, he was a squad leader, then a team leader, then finally an operations leader. He'd been there for a lot of his life, and many lesser operations were those he'd organised, planned and executed to the maximum efficiency. After his 36th birthday, he'd been offered, no given the position as master trainer for all the new meat that underwent Selection, while his former title was passed on to a younger, more able man. He was grateful, even though he missed being in command, but at least he had the opportunity to vet and train more able bodied men like him. Finally he'd gotten bored, at the age of 41, and left the service to a hail of fanfare and an honorable discharge by the Queen herself. Now here he was, four years later, in a different country, in a wildly different life, but still remarkably close to his roots.
"Hey Brandon?"
"Hmm?"
That snapped him out of his reverie. Connie was staring up at him, her head in his lap now and he hadn't even noticed, not like he cared anyway.
"You ever notice anything...strange about Daniel?"
"Strange? What d'you mean?"
She sat up and turned to him.
"Y'know, strange, like, weird? Like something's not right with the man?"
"Hmm, now that you mention it..."
He thought to himself a while. Sure Daniel was dedicated, but then again weren't men with his personality always fervently dedicated to their work?
Then it occurred to him that yes, something was indeed strange about Daniel.
"Yeah...yeah maybe. I remember, two years ago when we were chased out of Manhattan by the mob, it all started in my bar. He was being threatened by this guy, harassed and generally being a punching bag for this sod."
He did remember very clearly how Tony diMaggio had threatened his pal. He recounted the whole story to her: with a gun to his head, Tony had made a fool out of the weary detective in front of all his rich kid friends. Then he'd made a grave mistake: he'd assaulted a woman. Instantly, Daniel had his own weapon pressed against Tony's forehead. Too quickly, it seemed. Then the first shot had echoed through the whole bar and Tony was suddenly missing the whole back portion of his head. Daniel had taken out the rest of the armed goons in quick succession too, almost in an inhuman burst of speed, like the world somehow moved in slow motion while he didn't, just for that moment. And after that too, in Brazil, first when they were rescuing Morgan from the stadium, and again when they were assaulting Levi's apartment. Even in Russia, when they assaulted the house that had the mob leader that was antagonising Victor, Daniel had moved all too quickly for a normal person. It was undeniable, though Brandon had no explanation as to why. Connie seemed extremely interested in the story though, but as his spiel winded down she grew curious.
"Did you ever ask him?"
"These were all heat-of-the-moment things, Con. I never really bothered or remembered to ask him. This...is really the first time anyone's brought it up."
She nodded.
"But it's all good, right? At least there isn't something wrong with his head too, eh?"
"Too true, Con."
He ran a hand through her soft brown hair and she smiled up at him happily. He still didn't know how she was so happy, considering one of her earlobes had three rings in it, three! And she always had this thing for a spiked choker that she always wore around, for all he knew she wore it in the shower too. And every time when he'd visited when there wasn't much of a crowd, the first thing he'd hear when he opened the door was this cacophony of drums and guitars and screaming that was death metal. Even now she sported a shirt that had 'Slayer' emblazoned on the front of it. Brandon was confused by the entirety of the woman that was laid out on his lap, but it was alright. She was nice and it was all that really mattered.
He didn't know how much time had passed, but he knew that when he woke up, it was with her all cuddled up in his arms. Dusk was falling and people were going home. He gently eased her from his arms and left her curled up on the couch. He locked her door from the inside, let himself out and closed the door to make sure it was locked. Then he turned and left, stopping by a Subway nearby to have a slow, relaxed dinner.
Meanwhile, back in the apartment, Connie cracked open her eyes and peeked out the window to make sure he was gone, sighing in relief once she'd made sure that he was indeed out. She got up and made herself a pot of tea that she left on her table before heading downstairs into her library. There, tucked away in a small, dusty corner, sat books on the occult, black magic, witchcraft and wizardry. Tomes of both fictitious and non-fictitious nature adorned the smalle shelf, but she was only interested in two. She rummaged about among the books, going so far as to pull several from the shelf, before locating the volumes she wanted: a large book, thick and dusty, adorned with a simple grey cover, and another, smaller tome, almost equal in size to a journal, bound in a musty leather cover. Both books had no titles inscribed on the front and back, but she dusted the covers anyway and replaced the other books on the shelf. She took the tomes back upstairs to her little table and put on her reading spectacles. Then she left the second, thinner book in front of her, laid the larger volume on her lap, opened it and began to read. Inside, on the very first page, there was written the book's title.
'Children of the World: The Written Records of the Protectors'
The man hauled the final box of his belongings up the rugged wooden staircase and into his new abode. Small, but it served his purposes rather well. Without much to live on, he still had all he needed to make do right here. After settling down, he moved his boxes, all three of them, into one of the back rooms that would later serve as his bedroom. Then he went out to the living room and cleared it out, moving the couch and table and television set into what used to be the guest bedroom, but was now a sitting room and relaxation area. Then he moved a set of chairs and a large desk into what used to be the living room, but was now an open office. The kitchen, he would board up with plywood later to make it not as obvious, but for now he left it open. Satisfied with the arrangement of the furniture, he went back to his room to unpack. From the boxes he pulled clothes, bags, other assorted living items that went into cupboards, closets, the bathroom, etcetera. After he was finished, he folded and flattened the boxes that he was sure he would need in the future and stowed them away in his closet. Finally, from his suitcase, he pulled several items related to his new line of work. On the oak desk in the office he set down a small box of namecards, a desktop planner, a phone and a nameplate, one he'd gotten engraved quite proudly for a substantial portion of his savings. He placed it on the front of the desk and smiled to himself. Here stood a man that was self-sufficient, recovering from past mistakes to eke out a new living. As he gazed over his office he read the nameplate quietly to himself.
"Jonathan Hendrix, P.I. One heck of a new start, Jimmy. One heck of a new start."
Daniel reached home tired. Like his best friend, he'd also taken a much need break from his work both at the precinct and the FBI, but he was still quite the busy bee. After their latest escapades in Boston, he'd gone home weary, but something he'd found triggered a new...curiosity about something. He could still remember everything he did that day. The cab dropped him off at the foot of his apartment block and he'd trudged upstairs, tired but grateful to be home. After having a refreshing cold shower, he'd laid on his bed to have a nap, but his attention was drawn to his desk, where there laid the box he'd been given as a gift from his deceased father after he'd passed on. The box contained lots of memories from his past, letters and a locket that had been his first step into his new life. A sword and two pistols completed the set, and even though he'd carried the guns around with him all the time as his service weapons, he'd never touched the sword. It was only then, on that very day, that his interest was piqued a second time. Reading through the letters again, he remembered that as a Protector, he was supposed to also have a group of staunch companions called the Guild of Guardians. These men and women were supposedly scattered all around the globe, and they were descended from gods and goddesses all through time, from Greek to Aztec to Roman and Egyptian, even Chinese. But when he'd first read the letter, he'd been too overloaded to really understand anything. Now, as he reread the letter again, he had an idea in his head.
After reading the letter, he'd slept the rest of the day away, awakening only to eat dinner before drifting away again. The very next day he'd gone out to the local library, a bigger deal than Connie's small cornershop bookstore, in search of books about the Guild and his past ancestors, the Protectors. He'd been shown several works in the Occult and Paranormal section of the library and he'd read through several volumes with gusto, but the books only raised more questions than answers. According to what he'd read, Protectors were immensely powerful with a variety of abilities that were unique to each Protector. For instance, a Protector known as the Black Death, active during the 1600s when piracy was rampant, was the captain of a mysterious ship that obeyed commands that he gave silently using his sword, a large cutlass. Another, the Smithy, had in his possession several weapons that could change shape or combine with other weapons to create wholly new armaments to confuse his foes. His bloodline apparently ran all the way back to the very start of Anno Domini time, when Christ was first born. Apparently he was rumoured to have been the very first Protector, as shortly after the end of his story in the Bible, he was documented to have gone on more adventures quelling evil with his disciples, the Twelve, instead of rising to Heaven like the book said. His child, born from Mary Magdalene, spawned the Protector bloodline and it carried on from there ever since. He was the next in line, and if he'd had his way, so would've been his son, Vincent.
This interested him and all, but what interested him more was the Guild. According to one of the books he'd read, most, if not all the Protectors, had a circle of very close friends from which the Guild was always formed. It was as if the Protector's friends during his or her early life were destined to be Guardians, which meant that they were descended from gods, of course. That raised the biggest question from him: were these Guardians going to be his best friends that he knew? Intrigued, he kept reading, where he found that an actual scientific study had been carried out on certain people positively identified to have been 'descended' from gods. Genetic studies and breakdown of their DNA revealed one key factor, common to all of them: an extra gene, inserted in their DNA, that was unique to them and only them. The gene, dormant and passive to even the most extreme forms of stimulation, was dubbed 'the Demigod gene' by presiding geneticists and since then, many of the world's governments had carried out secret gene testing on their population to determine who carried this gene within them. The answer was staggering: out of the world's current seven billion population, 0.001% had the gene. Seventy thousand people with a possible key to disease cures, immortality, super strength and more. These people were kept under close surveillance while more tests were carried out on the Demigod gene to determine what activated it, but all tests came back negative. Soon the project ran out of funding and the watchlists were dropped in favour of other, more rewarding projects.
However, that didn't mean the watchlists ceased to exist. With a little bit of digging using his credentials, he'd managed to gain access to one of the watchlists, the most recent iteration made just before the projects went bust. The lists themselves were under no real classified protection, so he printed a copy off the server and kept it with him, while saving a digital copy that he'd show to a good friend of his at his home later on.
For now, he rested. The search for the Guardians could wait.
"Max, I need your help."
"Sure thing Daniel! What do you need?"
"Could I see you later, when you're at home? This work's kinda too private to be done at the office."
"Uh, sure thing Daniel. I'll see you there then, I have lots of paperwork and numberwork to process now. Talk to you later!"
Daniel hung up and nodded to himself. Earlier he'd transferred his digital copy of the watchlist to a portable drive, now all he had to do was wait until Max got home. Until then, he supposed, he could amuse himself somehow. After breakfast, he decided to head down to Times Square to have a walk, so he drove all the way there on his bike, parked it on the sidewalk and put a bunch of change in the meter. Then he stuffed his hands in his jacket pockets and took a stroll. The place was crowded, noisy and cold, as was the norm for this time of day. People milled about, most having breakfast at the cafes or fast food joints around the place, while tourists milled about, taking pictures and selfies on their phones, no doubt to post on Instagram or Twitter or whatever newfangled social network that was all the rage now. He watched them from the sidewalk, idly strolling along with his earbuds in his ears, drowning out the world with his music. He returned his gaze to the street ahead of him, where the crowd grew thicker at a street crossing.
Something on the ground caught his eye, however, and he stopped to investigate, obviously ticking off the people that were walking behind him in a rush. There, on the street, was a manhole cover, obviously doing its intended job. But something about it was a little...off. He couldn't tell what, so he stooped lower to take a look at it further, taking the guise of someone tying his shoelace. At first he didn't spot it, but when his eyes glossed over it the second time, he saw it. There, nestled against the cover's rusted iron, was an anomaly: part of the word 'sewerage' was skewed, deformed, almost as if it was at an angle, and yet, when he saw past the anomaly, he could still see the word in its correct orientation. Puzzled, he kept his eyes on the anomaly as he stood, noting how it seemed to be part of the cover and yet it wasn't, how it looked like it diverted away from its orientation, perhaps like it was laid down on a street that pointed in a different direction.
Then he had an idea. If the anomalous word was pointing off in a certain direction, what if he walked in that direction while fixating himself on it? So he tried it out. He backed up a few steps and kept his eyes on the anomaly. Then he walked straight ahead, like normal, but then slowly turned when he approached the anomaly, heading towards where the word was pointed. With his head facing the ground, he barely noticed the world around him change drastically, the only detail visible to him being the change of flooring from concrete to stone. That startled him, and as he looked up, he realised in shock that the world around him was indeed different. He was still in an alley though, so he stepped outside and the world became clearer.
A huge, almost gigantic marketplace dominated the central square, and in the upper corner there stood a tall clock tower. The buildings surrounding the square mirrored those in Times Square, but were proper shophouses instead of random cafes and restaurants and fast food outlets. Everything was being sold there, from clothes to weaponry, from books to bookcases and everything in between. What dominated the sky were massive flying beasts, some appeared to be dragons while others were huge airships that floated across a sea of clouds. The noise and rabble were that of your typical market, but in languages he couldn't recognise, alongside the familiar English. The square itself was populated by all manner of strange beasts alongside men, horses and animals. So entranced was he by the spectacle that he didn't notice a young man approach and tap him on the shoulder.
"Sir?"
That startled him out of his reverie.
"Oh, sorry, you need something?"
"I couldn't help but notice your apparent confusion. Is this your first time to the Square?
Daniel nodded.
"Yeah, I guess so."
"Well you can lower your spell then, sir. No harm will come of your kind."
"My kind?"
He got confused. The man smiled.
"Fae folk. Are you not of the fair ones?"
Daniel cocked a brow and shook his head.
"Uh...no?"
"Then why do you have a concealment charm on you?"
Daniel, still confused, pointed at himself.
"Wait you can see my spell?"
"Clear as day sir. A powerful but easy charm to cast. Very common amongst those who walk alongside the humans."
"Well alright then."
For the first time in a long time, he lowered his disguise spell, taking in the air as he loosened up a little. The smells that wove through the air were numerous and unique, spices, food, fresh cloth, wood, among other things. He barely noticed that the man was staring almost slack-jawed at him.
"Uh, sir?"
"Y-you are-"
"Just a dude?"
"No, sir, you are someone very important. You are the Protector."
"Oh yeah, that?"
Suddenly he was struck with confusion. This was a man who apparently recognised him and his power though he was completely unfamiliar, a power he hadn't used or even experimented with in years. Yet here he was, somewhere different entirely, with actual recognition of a title that he thought was only for show.
"And? I'm not sure what's so important about it."
The man drew a breath and calmed himself down.
"What's important about it, dear Sir, is you. You are one of the singular most important and famous persons in the whole world. Everyone knows your ancestors. Their business in markets and emporiums around the world has been greatly appreciated, and their work has made many friends and many men and beast alike owe many a favour to your kin."
"Hm."
He was intrigued now, not just confused.
"Why not you follow me, sir, to my humble abode? There we can talk at length about whatever it is you're doubtful about."
"Sure...and who are you exactly?"
The man held a hand to his mouth in shock.
"Oh dear me, I was so absorbed in the moment that I forgot to introduce myself!"
He extended a hand and Daniel shook it.
"My name is Dorian Gray, I'm the custodian of the books here in the Square. No literature escapes my eyes while it's here."
"The one and the same?"
"Yes, though the stories in the Overworld tend to greatly exaggerate my personality."
Daniel sat across from Gray, unbelieving. Here sat one of the most famous fairy tales in literature, one of a man possessing of a painting that absorbed his age, injuries and sickness as a scapegoat for his eternal life and youth. There were numerous retellings of his story and even a movie featuring him. By all accounts, telling the average person that Gray was real was nothing but a joke, but here he sat, as real as the clothes that he wore.
"So no doubt you've seen a lot of things, having lived for that long."
"Oh yes, I've seen and been a part of many things during my lifetime, and I'm sure it'll keep going as well, though I've mostly retired to tend to my books."
"Yeah, you do have quite the collection."
The collection in question was the extremely large library that they sat in the center of, shelves and shelves of books formed rings around them, each tome as priceless and valuable as the next. The library spanned two whole floors as well, and books filled every other space from ceiling to floor. They were in the center pavilion, inside a small gazebo that was also a rest point for weary patrons. Tea sat on the small table between the two men, along with a selection of books.
"Well, I'm sure those books will enlighten you on your ancestors and your own powers, Daniel. In the hands of those that came before you, these tomes were powerful tools."
"Yeah I hope so. Say, could we maybe continue this at a later date? I just remembered that I have to go meet a friend."
"Outside? Of course, Daniel. You know where to find me."
He smiled and the two shook hands.
"Of course, Dorian. Pleasure meeting you, and I have to say, this day is shaping up to be pretty damn interesting."
"A pleasure as well, Daniel. I did not expect to meet a man of your calibre today, as well as make friends with him."
"All good, Dorian. All good."
That being said, Daniel left, tracing his way back to the entrance to the market and exiting it the same way he came in; by following the route and turning left in keeping with the street's original orientation. For all intents, it was like he just spontaneously appeared at the mouth of the alley and walked down the street. Satisfied with the meeting, and with books in hand, Daniel made his way back to his bike to head for his next destination: the home of a man named Max.