Chapter 7

Mezhdunarodnyy Aeroport Vnukovo (Vnukovo International Airport)
Moskva, Rossiyskaya Federatsiya

Four figures moved quietly through the darkness. As a surprisingly positive legacy of the Soviet era, there were wooded areas quite close to even major Russian cities, left in place so that the rulers could have their forest dachas, and Moscow was no exception. The quartet took advantage of the trees to move within scant meters of the airport's perimeter fence. The leader used a set of night-vision binoculars to orient himself to the terminal buildings while the others set up the mortar they had carried.

“There,” he whispered. “That one is where the American airplanes are being kept.” It was the work of only a few moments to adjust the aim of the mortar and lay out the dozen rounds they had brought. “First their hangar, then the terminal building if we have time. Allahu akbar!”

The others echoed him. “Allahu akbar!”

He had only just picked up the first round when the flashlights clicked on, illuminating them from several angles. “Ne shevelis! Don't move!”

<How!?> was Ibrahim's last thought as he dropped the bomb into the tube. It launched, arcing away toward the airport, and then he fell as the rifles started firing from the darkness. Only one of the four was still breathing after the first volley. None of them saw their only round detonate eighty meters from the hangar as it impacted the wards placed around the building in a joint effort by the American and Russian security teams.

* * * *

The polar bear changling watched impassively throughout the entire meeting, relaxing only a little even after the rest had departed and he accompanied his boss back to his private office. Piotr was in an expansive mood and smiled as he poured two glasses of vodka. “Come, sit, Misha. Everything is going well, all things considered. And we have had another terrorist plot foiled by the alert security forces of the Motherland!” He grinned up as the bear's huge paw engulfed the glass.

“And so they have, sir. With our help. Why did you have me make that call?”

“Because our Chechen and Iranian friends would have been bad for business, Misha, very bad indeed. We may be at odds with our government, but are we not still loyal sons of the Rodina? And so I agreed to let our people smuggle them into the country, but made sure that they were not able to achieve their purpose. Had we turned them down, after all, someone else might have helped them sneak in – someone who would not share our patriotism, perhaps?”

“I see. You feel they are more dangerous to us than the Premier?”

“Vladimir Vladimirovich is a man of business, Misha. He understands that there are things that we can do that the country needs. And as long as I do not intrude upon things that he feels are vital to his own interests, he is willing to let us do these things. It is, as the Americans say, a win-win.” The crimelord took another sip of his vodka. “These Muslims... they were primitives even before the Change, Mikhail Andreyovich. Now they seek to deny the new forms of technology because their long-dead prophet denounced the use of 'magic'. All while the Americans track them down and the Desert Prince turns them into swine. They will not be a problem in the long term, but as they get more desperate, they will become more dangerous in the short term.”

The bear nodded politely. “Let us hope they do not connect us to their failure, or they will become more dangerous to you specifically, sir.”

“A good point, Misha. This is why you are the head of my personal security. And why it was you, specifically, that I requested to make that call.”

“To keep that information secure, of course.”

“Exactly so. They are barbarians, but dangerous ones for the moment. But they will overreach themselves. Striking at us and the Americans both? Madness.”

The bear nodded. “As you say, sir.”

“I do indeed. And now I have a call to make. Make sure that no one intrudes.”

The bear nodded, and left the room to stand guard outside.

* * * *

For centuries, if not longer, the islanders had told stories of the witch who lived up on the slopes of the volcano. Some said she was young and beautiful; others said that she was ancient and wrinkled. Some tales said that she was friendly, others that she was malicious. Perhaps she welcomed company, perhaps she wished to be left alone. The most accurate tale told of her was part of the Odyssey, and the detail that the home of Circe was the island of Nisyros had long since been forgotten.

The inhabitants of the island continued their lives the way they always had, fishing and farming and raising goats, little noticing the change from the Athenian Empire to the Romans, Byzantium giving way to the Ottomans, or even the interruption of the Second World War in the current rule of the Elliniki Dimokratia. The island was too small to be noticed as long as they did not try to draw attention to themselves – and though they didn't realize it, the presence of the witch protected them. -She- did not wish to be noticed while she slept for years at a time in the tunnels under the volcano, and while the spells were weak while magic slept, the fact that the mountain -was- a volcano, bringing fresh mana to the surface with each eruption, kept the witch alive and her spells intact.

And then one day, the magic returned in full. Several families of fishermen rediscovered their forgotten heritage as seal-folk, two young women and one old one became harpies (though much better tempered than the legends expected)... and the islanders marvelled at this for a few days, before going back to their quiet lives. Early the next summer a red-headed young Englishwoman had arrived and climbed the mountain after spending two days in the tavernae listening to all the tales the villagers could remember of the witch.

A few weeks after that, the witch stopped being a fable and their lives stopped being quiet.

* * * *

The Palati tis Kirkis stood again on the northwestern flank of the volcano, overlooking the town and port of Mandraki. The style was ancient, reminiscent of the Minoan culture that Circe had molded two cycles past, and was staffed by Changelings. The guards patrolling the perimeter were either natural Changelings or volunteers for her shape-changing spells as well. The Greek government, on the advice of the United States among others, allowed her island full autonomy after a few initial... misunderstandings.

Nimue looked up as Circe entered the audience chamber. “Good afternoon, Mistress.”

The sorceress nodded. “If you say so. Anything I need to know about?”

“Haroun has sent a message. The Syrians are losing their battle against the Daesh rebels, and he expects that there will be another wave of refugees to deal with soon. And the young Diviner is visiting him with two of her companions, and would like to pay her respects to you on her way to Berlin.”

“Berlin? She is planning to visit with the new Immortals of Europe, then?”

“She did not say, Mistress, but I would think it likely.”

“Invite them here, instead. I need to talk to them all anyway. These religious fanatics are becoming irritating, and we need to take action.”

“At once, Mistress. When would be convenient for you?”

“When did the Diviner wish to see me?”

“Three days from now was her suggestion, Mistress.”

“Then make it so. Summon the young Immortals to meet with us.”

* * * *

The Gulfstream set down at Athens International Airport and rolled out to the VIP terminal. Guardian watched as the refueling truck drove up, growling under his breath at the approaching ground crew.

Lowe patted his hand as she stood up to disembark. “Calm down, love. We're safe here.”

Whitford twitched an ear. “Are we? Or do you foresee nothing bad happening -because- I stop a threat?”

Lowe frowned, looked at her mate, and then rubbed her muzzle. “That is a very good question. And I don't have an answer for you. So... I suppose you should go on being suspicious, then.”

He half-grinned. “I intend to.”

The fuel hoses were connected, and the head steward, a Navy senior chief, lowered the stairs. “Captain Sterling says we'll be on the ground for three quarters of an hour, ma'am.”

“Thank you. We should be back on board in plenty of time unless something's gone wrong somewhere.” Guardian disembarked first, and greeted the Marines who came out to stand guard by the plane. Two of them took up stations on either side of the plane, while the third led the way to the VIP lounge.

Eight people were waiting there. Five of them were full human, one was an otter-morph, one was a bay-coated centaur, and the last was a human seven feet in height, not counting the white-feathered wings that stood an additional foot above her head even while fully folded.

“Kalimera!” The centaur, at least, seemed happy to be there, and then they all broke out in a confused babble of different languages.

Lowe held up her hands. “Silencio! Un instant! Ruhe, bitte! Cisza, prosze!” The crowd quieted down, curious as she started chanting. When she finished, she started over. “Okay, can everyone understand me now?”

The winged woman nodded. “I can. I don't believe anyone else here speaks German, though.”

“That is why we are speaking French, Valkyrie.”

The otter chuckled. “And I am hearing – and speaking – Italian. A translation spell, then, Director Lowe?”

The wolf grinned. “Exactly. It will last for a few weeks, which should be plenty of time for this meeting. You've all been invited to meet with Circe?”

The centaur nodded. “Train tickets to Athens, pass to the VIP terminal, and directions to meet a white wolf here. The invitation didn't mention your name.”

“Director Lowe of the United States National Security Agency. I was in the neighborhood, and requested the opportunity to pay my respects. She asked if I could bring you all along for the ride.” She considered the centaur. “I -think- we can squeeze you through the door. I'm not sure if you can handle the stairs, though.”

“I'm a little more flexible than an ordinary horse. I should be able to manage.”

Lowe nodded. “They're really more of a ladder than a staircase. We'll figure something out. At any rate, I think introductions are in order. I'm Diviner in these circles, and this is Guardian. Shadow is currently overseeing the refueling operations, she'll join us once we reach Kos. Who are all of you?”

The centaur grinned, stamping one hoof and materializing a bow from thin air. “Archer.”

“Undine,” the otter-femme said. “From Napoli.” The rest followed around the circle.

The dark blond man introduced himself as Hunter. Next to him was a platinum blond man with pale blue eyes. “Ice, according to Baba Yaga. And my sister, Fire.” The family resemblance was noticeable in spite of her darker skin and bright red hair.

“Walkure.” The winged woman managed to give her name the German pronunciation even through the translation spell. The Frenchman managed the same thing. “Roche.”

The last one, a man with a Mediterranean complexion said, “Tempest. From Coimbra. Diviner, what is this all about? This is really Circe we are going to see?”

“It really is Circe from the Odyssey, yes. And Nimue from the Arthurian tales is there too, I believe. We'll be flying from here to the island of Kos, and then taking a boat across to Nisyros. Her island is too small to put in a proper airfield, and we don't have a helicopter available at the moment. She didn't seem that anxious for me to try arranging for one, either.”

Tempest frowned at this. “She does not have the best reputation in the stories, Diviner. Is this safe?”

“It should be. I doubt she would try to cross the Eldest even if the legends about her are accurate.” Lowe shrugged. “I think she simply wants to meet all of us. After all...” She stopped for a moment, grinning before dropping the bombshell. “... we're going to be her associates for a very long time.”

Another confused babble broke out.
“A very long--
“what do you mean by--
“HOW long--?”

The wolf just smiled. “Not here. Let's board the plane first.”

* * * *

Getting Archer through the doorway and into the aircraft was a tight squeeze, but he was indeed more flexible than a horse would have been, so he managed. Finding a spot for him inside the aircraft was another matter – the steward eventually had to remove two seats at the front of the cabin, and the centaur lay down directly on the deck in the cleared area. Once everyone was settled in, he reopened the conversation that had been postponed while figuring out how to get him aboard. “So, Diviner. What do you mean by 'a very long time'?”

“I mean exactly what I said. Probably at least fifteen hundred years, more likely two thousand or more. Gentlemen, ladies... we are all of us Immortals. Like Circe herself, we will not suffer from old age until the end of the current cycle of magic. Some of us – Shadow is one - may live well beyond that; all of us if we can work out the secret of how a few have done so in the past.”

“Assuming something doesn't kill us in the meantime.” Undine was sitting cross-legged on her seat, her tail curled around her feet. “I have been paying attention. You Americans dropped nuclear bombs on two of the Old Gods back when the change started, and we are not immune to that.”

Lowe nodded. “Aye. Quetzalcoatl ordered the assassination of President Obama and his senior officials, and managed to take out eight of the top dozen in the chain of succession. And the Kraken was attacking merchant shipping and eating the crews. Both needed to be dealt with, and the Eldest approved what we did. But you are quite right. We are not immune to trauma and accident – merely to disease and old age. The Israelis killed a young dragon the day of the Event, and as far as we know all dragons are Immortals.”

Valkyrie held up a hand. “The Eldest?”

“The oldest of the Immortals, Cerrunos by name. He is not even sure of his own age any more, but it would appear that he is nearly as old as Homo sapiens. He told me that he has been present for nineteen Events and that he helped invent the Aterian Paleolithic tool set, both of which indicate he would be at least eighty thousand years old.”

This was met with a shocked silence, and for several minutes only the whine of the jet engines could be heard in the cabin. Roche finally asked “And Circe?”

“A tenth of that, I understand. But any advice she wishes to give to us youngsters is worth considering. While we're on the subject. I've got a list for all of you – who the old Immortals are, what their powers and personalities are, what we have found out about them so far. Valkyrie, I know you're affiliated with your government, you should pass this on to them. The rest of you can if you wish, but we'll be contacting them directly, so you do not need to if you would rather not for whatever reason. So let's see, German, German... here it is. French, that's your copy, Roche. Italian for Undine, Polish for you, Hunter, Ukranian for Fire and Ice, Greek for Archer, and Portuguese for Tempest. No, the translation spell doesn't work on written material. For that, you have to learn the language.” She sat back while the others looked over the information they'd been given.

Valkyrie nodded as she finished her packet, and looked up just as the intercom crackled to life. "Landing at Kos in two minutes, people. Buckle up."