Alice Little Hargraves was, as might be expected of any woman three weeks before her wedding, shopping. To accompany her on this overwhelming task were two unusual people--and, of course, also two of her bridesmaids.
Valentine Wiggin stood out in a crowd. Five foot four of leather clad Parisienne punk, jangling with metal chains and superabundant jewelry, her two foot hot pink liberty spikes easily cut a swath through the crowd of staid Londoners. The multicoloured skin dyes that covered her face also drew more than slight attention.
Shadoe, on the other hand, was someone who wouldn't be noticed until you were standing right next to her. Her clothes were a neat combination of traditional Japanese and conservative businesswoman. The outfit was baggy enough to conceal her ninja-to and scabbard, and also extensive enough to hide the body-length dragon tatoo which wound sinuously up from her left ankle.
And Alice Hargraves, the epitome (at least for all prying eyes) of the proper Victorian lady, was flanked by these two as the trio window shopped their way from one end of Fleet Street to the other and back.
It was a perfectly lovely way of passing the afternoon, and Mrs. Hargraves felt about as at ease as anyone who is constantly struggling to hold a mad, vicious beast at bay can.
Shadoe, her well-trained senses prickling to the feel of something not quite right, began to walk ahead of her companions, pushing forward into the crowd.
Seconds later, she was sure what she had noticed, as another scream sounded from up ahead. The other two were following after her then.
Shadoe noticed that she was moving against the flow of the crowd. People were rushing away from something up ahead, and she was determined to find out what.
The three broke into a small clearing in the crowd just in time to find out. A female form lay crumpled on the street, her head turned in an unnatural direction, and her fine light brown hair matted with blood.
This time the scream was of pure madness and rage. In the middle of the clearing stood a British man, dressed in a business suit, but he was foaming badly at the mouth, and blood stained his mouth and his white shirt.
He screamed again, panting and dripping saliva. He turned toward another victim, but Shadoe produced her sword--still in its scabbard--and swung for his head, grazing it. He turned around just in time for Valentine to swing a heavy industrial chain at him.
The chain took the madman lightly across the chest, and he was about to react when he saw Alice, standing at the edge of the fray. Alice knew she could not allow the beast to take over here, with all these people around. But the madman noticed her, and there was some sign of recognition in that loathsome contact of the eyes.
Alice said, ``This behaviour is absolutely reprehensible, young man! You must stop all this, this instant!''
Before Alice knew for sure what was happening, the lunatic was pinioning her arms to her sides, and biting at the side of her neck. Somehow, in her frantic backpeddling, Mrs. Hargraves threw him down, and Shadoe and Valentine were right in place. The scabbard and chain hit together, and, with a howl of agony, the madman dropped to the ground.
Shadoe was the first to notice the constables working their way through the crowd, and she made a quick move to hide her sword. Valentine strung the chain through the left epaulet of her leather jacket, then produced a pack of French Opals and began to chainsmoke.
Alice was still looking quite upset as the constables arrived on the scene. Shadoe realised just then that somebody would tell the officer that there had been an Oriental girl with a sword, and that she did not want to be around when it happened. Shadoe stepped discretely backwards, and practically vanished into the crowd.
``Lord! What happened here?'' asked one of the Bobbies.
Alice held the back of her hand to her forehead. ``Oh, my! It was so awful!'' she said.
The other Bobby moved towards her. ``There, there, ma'am. Are you alright?''
``That, that man-'' and she pointed towards the unconscious form, ``just went absolutely out of his mind! Look at all the people he hurt. He was biting, and scratching, and Lord knows what else. He is mad!''
Valentine was standing near the scene, sniggering at Alice's melodrama. The bobby noticed the blood marks around Alice's high lace collar. ``Blimey, ma'am, did he hurt you?'' The Bobby sounded genuinely concerned.
``Oh, I don't think so. I just feel a little overwhelmed at the moment. Why, you don't think that man is rabid, do you?''
The other Bobby laughed. ``Oh, no, ma'am. There is no more rabies in England. Hasn't been for years and years.''
``Are you quite sure, Constable? That man seems quite rabid to me.''
``Well, we'll just let the doctors examine him. I'll have to take a statement from you now, ma'am.'' The Bobby noticed Valentine, and said, ``Uh, we'll need a statement from you, too, miss.''
In the countryside near Brentwood, Exeter, was a small building of wooden sides and thatched roof. It didn't look like much at all, but inside of it lived a very good mage, well along in years, whose greatest joy at this stage of his life was in mentorship.
He did not actively seek students; rather, he let his reputation stand where it might, and preferred for students to seek him. Magician Trellyn would teach the very basics to an aspiring practitioner, or powerful spells to an advanced mage, or knowledges to those who wished to learn. Trellyn, however, would teach no one whom he felt was undeserving of that which they sought.
Alain Mirandor had discovered Trellyn several months ago, and had grown fond of his tutelage. When she had most recently gone to London to visit her friends, she was one of six students studying with the Magician.
In London, however, she had become acquainted with a friend of Brenden's named John Kickingbird. John had, somehow, become fairly good at magick, without ever really studying it. The fact amazed Alain, almost as much as some of the weird magickal feats she had witnessed David Hardy perform.
So, with a good word from Alain, Trellyn had allowed John to come study theoretical magick, and Alain was sure it would be a great boon to him.
A sudden yawn caught her by surprise, and Alain carefully closed the tome on magickal manipulation she had been reading, allowed herself a luxurious stretch, and walked out into the crisp night air.
The weather was clear enough for her to notice that fabulous celestial body shining peacefully down from on high. The Moon, these Core Earthers called it. Alain still missed the world of Aysle, but the Moon was one reason why she didn't mind this world of Earth. Imagine! Having a glowing orb in the sky at night, as well as in the day. Truly a wonder.
But, as she stood and admired the three-days old moon, a dull throbbing ache built up within her ears. At first, it wasn't even enough to notice, but it quickly became painful. John and two of the other students were outside now, all holding hands to their ears.
Suddenly, the bright sliver of moon ceased to shine. Alain forced herself to look up, and could not see the white crescent. It wasn't immediately obvious, but then she noticed motion. There were bats. Thousands of bats, three feet by the wing, at least, and half that long.
The procession filled the sky, and their high-pitched keening washed across the land like a powerful surf. For long minutes, they blotted out the sky, until, at last, the throbbing began to subside, and the moon came out from hiding.
Alain sat on the ground, and waited several moments until she trusted her hearing again. ``John, is this sort of thing usual for this area?''
John barely heard her over his ringing ears. ``No,'' he said with a shake of his head. ``Not at all.''
Alain nodded solemnly. ``Not for Aysle, either.''