Chapter 2

New York, Paris, Moscow, Tokyo, Shanghai, Singapore, Bandar Seri Begawan

The images on the monitor screens were no longer clear and steady; the changes that caused a slow degradation of the electrical grid were much more noticeable in their effect on computer communications. Video was now sluggish and prone to freeze up and stagger, even on a state of the art private hookup. Prince Hassan was, as usual, the last to connect to the private conference, and Stavros called the meeting to order. “Old business, first item. Political interference. Jian Chao?”

The Chinese industrialist nodded, steepling his fingers as he considered his response. “The Great Dragon maintains his control over the government of China. He has been more open to suggestions in the past few months, and has made a point of bringing in more of those who understand modern economics as advisors. Overall, it seems as if he can be managed successfully as long as it is done indirectly. Ideas must seem to come from several sources before he will accept them.”

Chen Ming-Yu, the Singaporean shipping tycoon, nodded. “Excellent. And his relationship with the Americans?”

Jian smiled. “Still stable. He finds them useful, and sometimes amusing. I am curious, Stavros. The latest election had, shall we say, surprising results?”

Stavros scowled at the reminder. “There seems to have been interference. The results seem to have been immune to manipulation, and my people tell me that there are faint traces of magic on the machinery used for counting the votes.”

De Revol quirked an eyebrow at the admission. “And you have not started a public campaign about this?”

Stavros shook his head. “Not yet. For one thing, it will be very difficult indeed to sell the idea that anything went wrong when most of the unexpected defeats involved politicians suspected of chicanery in the first place. Having corrupt politicians voted out of office may be unexpected to the masses, but it will be hard to convince them that such results mean that something is wrong.”

Piotr Telnikov snorted surprise from his Moscow headquarters. “So... you are sayink results were manipulated in favor of honest politicians?” This led to knowing chuckles by several of the conferees.

Stavros nodded. “That actually seems to be the case, my friend. The results appear to have been... deinfluenced. I suspect that one or more of the Immortals are responsible, possibly through the agency of the wolf who advises Boehner.” He looked back at the two Europeans. “And what of the Sahara Kingdom and its ruler?”

De Revol frowned in turn. “Prince Haroun continues to be a stabilizing influence on the Muslim world, I would say. It is doubtful that he is sincere in his professed belief, but he does seem to give protection – and a voice – to the more moderate factions of Islam.”

Telnikov added, “Which gives more radical factions somethink to denounce, even as they bleed followers to Desert Realm. Useful distraction, da?”

Hassan glowered at his compatriots. “Useful for you, perhaps. It creates much unrest and strife for -my- part of the world.”

De Revol shook his head. “Perhaps so, your Highness, but it is better for the radicals to attack him rather than your father or his allies, n'est-ce pas? I do not think he causes the strife so much as focuses it.”

The youngest son of the Sultan of Brunei frowned. “Perhaps. The Wahabi sect has always hated everyone who is not as strict as they would like. And the Daesh fanatics...”

Marubashi Riku spoke for the first time. “And better that they attack him rather than the Saudis or your own family, Hassan-sama. They are a problem if they cannot be directed properly.”

Stavros cleared his throat. “Second item of old business. Progress on the research into immortality. Francois?”

The Frenchman smiled. “We have finally managed to penetrate the American research program. Nothing of their core findings yet, but we got a list of the participants. It seems that they are focusing on the genetic aspects as well as the 'magic' influence, and we have obtained a tissue sample known to be derived from one of the Immortals. I am in the process of augmenting my own research team with genetics experts, and hope to make some good progress this year even if progress on the espionage front remains slow.”

Telnikov smiled. “Excellent news! The Americans are takink security much more seriously, I am noticink. Beink careful, but keep up good work!”

De Revol nodded. “I intend to, on both counts.” He looked at his monitors. “Anyone else?”

Stavros waited for a minute and then moved on. “Third item of old business. Economic impacts of the latest Event...”

And in an ancient cave outside of Padirac, a fox-changeling considered what he was seeing as he looked over the financier's shoulder via an ancient set of hunting spells. <A pity there is no sound with these spells. Who are these friends of yours, Francois? Perhaps Coyote will know. I should see how he is doing anyway.>

* * * *

A single pair of monitors remained lit after the rest were disconnected, one in Shanghai and its mate in Singapore. “An interesting discussion, Jian. What do you make of our French ally?”

“He disregards the magicians, Ming-yu. He still thinks too much of Western science and not enough of the traditional ways that are again important, I think.”

The Singaporean nodded. “I agree. I have my own agents among his people. He actually had an Immortal in his custody from before the Event and did not realize who he had. One of the huli-jing, and of course the fox escaped him. And you know what happens to those who offend the tricksters.”

Jian Chao smiled in cold mirth. “Make sure that you retrieve everything you can before the inevitable, then. De Revol believes that money can purchase anything, and I suspect he will be very unhappy when he discovers that it will not buy the forgiveness of a huli-jing.”

Chen Ming-yu nodded his agreement. “And what of the Dragon? When we find the secret, he will surely notice.”

Jian shrugged. “He seems to be a true Son of Heaven. As long as his servants are loyal, he has shown no objection to demonstrations of talent and cleverness. I intend to make myself useful to him now and after the Change is complete.I would suggest that you do the same.”

Ming-yu nodded in turn. “I agree. The Japanese and Americans have the correct idea. Conquering the world is difficult and prone to rebellion. Exerting control behind the scenes is much better. If Wei Lung understands this, then we can be his hands to guide the world into the control of the Middle Kingdom, as it should be.”

Jian smiled. “Then we are agreed. Stavros is the only dangerous one, I think. We need to keep our closest watch on him. Until next time, my friend.”

“Until then.” The last monitors went dark.

* * * *

Thor Odinsson was not one of the more thoughtful of the Immortals, but forty centuries had at least taught him caution. This had probably kept him alive when Morrigan had tried to manipulate him into attacking the United States shortly after the Change had begun replacing electricity with mana. He had initially agreed to guest with them, and had since more-or-less become the lord of the manor in the former resort town of Rockport, Massachusetts. Most of the town now catered to the groups that came to see him.

The largest of those groups was the Asatru Pagans, who considered him an actual deity. They were interested in weapons training for the most part, and by this time he had followers to do the initial training for them, while he made occasional appearances and demonstrations and sparred with the best of his new acolytes. So far, he had managed to prevent anyone from starting a cult claiming his authority. <Perhaps there is something to this mass communication idea. At least I can tell all of the Asutra not to listen to any self-appointed priests.>

The second group was a bit more disciplined; most of the time; military and security people who had some ability to manipulate mana. He could teach them the techniques he had learned over the years, how to boost a body's natural abilities in combat, and he had become friends with a number of them, at least as much as an Immortal could befriend a mortal.

The third group was the smallest, but also the closest. These were his few fellow Immortals who had survived the last age of low mana, and the young Immortals who were only starting to realize what they were. One of each was visiting with him this night; Coyote, who had become something of a patron to the Americans since the latest Change, and the grey wolf-morph John Whitford, who the Eldest had named Guardian.

A traditionally blonde and buxom barmaid had just dropped off a trio of drinks at their table in what had once been the dining room of a rather exclusive resort before it had been transformed into an approximation of a Norse mead hall. Thor waited until she was out of earshot. “What brings you here tonight, Coyote?”

Coyote took an appreciative mouthful of mead, then grinned. “Nothing in particular, my old friend. Just dropping in to say hello and have a few drinks with you.”

Whitford perked one ear up. “In other words, you don't have anything new to report on Loki's whereabouts, I take it?”

Coyote's ears drooped. “You really take things too seriously, John. Must it always be business with you?”

Whitford shrugged. “Comes with the territory, I'm afraid. Jandi's closeted with the President this weekend out at Camp David, so I'm up here getting some more tips. The Presidential Detail is good enough that I don't worry -too- much about her.”

Thor drained half of his mead in one long pull and drew a sleeve across his beard. “As well they should be. I have trained a goodly number of them in hand-to-hand combat, and they are all masters of your style of weapons in addition to that. You worry needlessly, my young friend.”

“I don't know about -that-, Thor. There's already been one attempt on her.”

“That business over the Philippines?” The red-headed Immortal snorted. “Naught that you could do for that in any event. She won't be flying anywhere until you return, after all. And from what I am told, she is not only becoming more difficult to surprise every day, but she is learning more and more ways to protect herself, even without you being there. The Eldest named her truly when he called her Diviner.”

Whitford took a pull on his ale. “I still worry.”

Thor smiled. “So when will you ask for her hand in marriage?”

Coyote grinned as the wolf choked on his drink. “I'm told that's just one of the parts he's already gotten to.”

Thor frowned. “She is no mere serving wench to tumble, young wolf. She is a Power and deserves respect as one. Best that you make the offer, even if she chooses not to take it yet.”

Whitford finished coughing and glared at Coyote. “We're too busy just yet. There will be time later, once the Change is complete and things are settled on a more permanent basis.”

Thor nodded. “Still, you should ask. An engagement of a century or two is nothing new for our kind.”

“Hmmm. You may have a point, there. We're still thinking in mortal terms, aren't we?”

Coyote nodded. “You're still young. It's understandable that--” He was interrupted as the fireplace shifted into the pattern of a Sending and a voice called his name. “Excuse me...”

The face framed in the flames was that of a fox-morph, red-furred with sharp ears, a white chin, and black nosepad and ears. Coyote smiled, tongue lolling out in the canid manner. “Reynard! It is good to see you! I was afraid you hadn't made it! What took you so long to get in touch?”

The fox gave him a raised eyebrow. “Thereby hangs quite a tale, mes amis. Are you in touch with the Eldest?”

“I am... but this is not a private place. Are you pressed for time?”

“I'm safe for now. But I am not sure how long that will last for any of us.”

“Try again in ten minutes. I am with Thor and one of the new Immortals. Will they be acceptable?”

“Of course.”

The three had moved to a private chamber, with a fire freshly kindled and a keg of ale freshly tapped, when the flames bent to channel the fox again. “So, you were wondering why I wasn't present for the First Conclave, I take it?”

Coyote nodded. “You never missed one before.”

“I was in custody, as it turns out.”

“Messing with someone's daughters again?”

The fox flattened his ears. “Not -that- kind of trouble. Someone figured out that I was an Immortal a half-dozen years ago, and decided to figure out how they could steal the secret for themselves.”

Whitford perked his ears. “Someone learned that you were an Immortal -before- the Change?”

Coyote made the introduction. “Reynard, this is the young Immortal I mentioned. John Whitford, who the Eldest has named Guardian; Guardian, this is Reynard the Fox, one of my fellow troublemakers.”

Reynard looked at the wolf. “Guardian, is it? Guardian of what?”

Coyote grinned. “So far, mostly of 'who'. His paramour is high in the councils of the American government.”

“Is she really? This may concern him as much as you, then, Coyote. The short version is, the bureaucrats noticed how old I was, and I got caught trying to change my identity to a younger one. I spent a bit over six years in a gilded cage run by a fellow who liked to style himself Richilieu in front of me, but whose name is actually Francois de Revol.”

Coyote frowned. “It took you four years to break out after the Change? You're losing your touch, old friend.”

“I preferred to have enough of my power back that I could make a clean break, Coyote. I had no interest in being caught again. And as long as I didn't seem to mind, it was a very pleasant gilded cage. But the latest shift gave me the chance to escape and I have since been watching him from one of the old Caves.”

“One of the ones that hasn't been turned into a tourist attraction, I assume?”

“Indeed. They haven't found this one yet, and the old spells still work. I just watched a rather interesting meeting-by-television of my erstwhile jailer and a half-dozen of his cabal. We need to update the Hunting Magic, I think – I would have liked to hear as well as see, particularly since I couldn't read lips on whoever he was talking to. But they are all presumably powerful among the mortals, all are interested in becoming Immortals, and I would guess that none of them have any scruples about how they achieve it.”

Whitford's ears were up and focused, practically quivering. “Did you recognize any of the others, Monsieur Reynard?”

The fox chuckled. “Just Reynard among our kind, my boy. But to answer your question, no. Two other Europeans, two Chinese, one who I suspect was Japanese, and a Malayan.”

Whitford nodded. “Most interesting. Reynard... could I interest you in a consulting stipend from the
American government...?”

* * * *

The white wolf stirred, opening her eyes and shifting to look at the bedside clock in her guest room. <3:37 a.m. Not a time to be awake.> She got out of bed and slipped a robe on, then padded to the window and opened the curtains. The Marine guards at Camp David were good at staying out of sight, but she could feel their presence as bright sparks of mind in the winter darkness. And then the darkness faded, her mind's eye looking at Capitol Hill.

[The dome was still broken where the missile had hit, and the legislative wings were streaked with soot and water damage. The dragon Forge curled protectively around the official party as she watched herself standing beside her mate, holding his hand as he took the oath of office.... ]

<An attack? Surely this can be prevented...> The vision shimmered and faded, replaced by another.

[Capitol Hill glimmered in the pre-dawn light, older than the previous vision but intact where the other had been wrecked. Her Guardian stood watch, his eyes assessing the crowd as petitioners came forward one by one to kneel before the Triarchy, the Deities of Shadow, Light, and Knowledge... Shadow she knew, and Knowledge was her own image, though the one who was Light was shrouded in haze. And then a figure burst from the crowd, charging the thrones, shouting something lost in the uncertainties of time, and... the Guardian simply gestured. The would-be assassin fell lifeless to the ground.]

She shook her head, denying the truth of that vision. <No. I will not play a goddess.>

[The thrones winked out, replaced in an instant by another scene. The Capitol was gone, or nearly so, merely broken walls weathered by centuries of neglect. Her viewpoint swung around, until she could see the worn spire of the Washington Monument and the weckage of the Smithsonian buildings. The Mall itself was the site of a trade fair, where humans haggled over cloth and spices and jewelry and simple metalwork... and her old human self and a man she knew to be Whitford walked, carefully avoiding the piles left by the horses who pulled the trader's wagons...]

Her certainty faltered. <Is that my choice? Let civilization fall if I do not pretend to be a goddess?> But this vision faded as well, and no further answers were offered.

She slept no more that night.