The bus dropped White Tiger and Spike off at the foot of a long, winding, green hill. For Spike, the quaint English village felt like something out of a fairy tale. Houses dotted winding, cobblestone streets, nestled in between brush and lush streets. The ruins of abbeys, crumbling, yet still maintaining an otherworldly dignity, loomed over their modern counterparts. And above all this magic, hung a peculiar hill, rising over everything, with a medieval edifice crowning its lofty height. Spike had never seen so much green in all his life, thought that this strange place with its potent energy might be a dream. It was no dream, of course, but the magickal village of Glastonbury, supposedly the burial place of King Arthur and one of few entrances into the realm of the fae.
As the little bus petered off into the English countryside, Spike adjusted his overnight bag, and sighed. "Well..."
"Mhmm." White Tiger, dressed in a white cutoff (revealing his sculpted, enviable arms) and black jeans, placed his fingers to his chin in deep contemplation. "I will make sure you and Cian get settled into your lodgings. You, my friend, are to provide intelligence only during the course of this mission. I shall take care of acquiring the Chalice." He sighed, and looked longingly at the green hills. "I've been focusing far too much on the championship, when I should have been protecting my coworkers, my students, my peers."
Spike looked down at the ground. Rarely did he feel shy around anybody in particular. With Joseph, it was like he was back to being a rookie trainee.
The champion of the GSA tore himself out of his wistful fugue and ruffled his little friend's soft hair. "Don't worry, little brother. I will protect you. You sit tight and work on those exercises I showed you."
Little brother. Spike felt his heart enlarged twice the size. He swallowed, experience a swift wave of guilt.
A familiar face walked towards them from a hidden, pebbled road. Colt the Bolt, dressed in a green shirt and jeans (surprisingly casual) hailed the. "Er...howwwdy, little dogies."
Joseph frowned. "Boss. Don't tell me you caught a cold!"
Spike smiled uncomfortably.
Colt scratched his head. His gait was wider than normal. "No sireeee, hoss. I just came by to tell you that Cian and Spike are gonna help you on this mission, on the account of Mr. O'Roark having the right sort of magick for the job, and for Spike..." He blinked. "Well, Spike is a good luck charm. Besides, time is of the essence. We think Rage gave us a tip so we could get ahead of the other Firebird goons, daft as--I mean--dog-gone crazy as it sounds!"
Joseph narrowed his eyes. "Hmmm. I thought you wanted the Silvers to stay out of danger this time. This is a rather abrupt turn."
Spike began to sweat.
Colt blinked. "We just think we're--I mean, I think these two are equipped to do a bit more hands on research, especially with Vahni Rage giving Spike that clue at the match the other night."
"Vahni Rage is a heel who is no doubt luring an innocent, naive--" Joseph looked to Spike, "No offense--hero to his doom, using a combination of intimidation and...I dunno, pelvic sorcery! Let me speak to the people of the town, conduct a thorgough investigation, and then let the Tiger pounce when the moment is right!" Joseph, with a righteous fury in his eyes, made a fist, flexing so hard that his trendy little bracelet snapped right off his arm.
Spike gulped. Colt went white.
The Tiger was ready for the hunt, it seemed. "Sorry," Joseph said, stone-cold. "I just can't abide by villainy and treachery. Any wrong doing must be met with punishment." He looked to Spike and Colt.
I am going to piss myself... Spike thought, blood going cold. He had seen what Joseph had done to his opponents before...
"Hehehe." Colt blushed. "Very kind of you, Joseph. Please do not break Spike or Cian's necks if they were to ever engage in some well-meant tomfoolery. I will let you be. But if you see Spike and Cian about--"
"You mean, I do not sleeper hold them both out, tie them up in my red rope, and haul them off for a stern talking to, as you said before?"
"I...said that?"
"I'm ready to break every rule," Spike said, not thinking, before he shook his head. "No, I mean, yes! Colt. That is a great idea. We can research carefully."
Joseph leered. "Something is off here." He walked to Colt, who did his best not to break eye contact. "You're missing your favorite bolo tie."
"It's at the cleaners. The...tie cleaners."
"Well why didn't you tell me earlier, boss." Joseph sighed. "An icon such as yourself should not be seen in public without their signature accessories. I would have been more than happy to pick it up for you." He shrugged, and hoisted up his backup. "Well, then. I will let you escort Spike to his lodgings, and I will hit the ground running, as it were. Still, do not trust Firebird." With that, Joseph left.
Colt, glaring at Spike, nodded for him to follow him into the bush-flanked path. Spike scurried close behind. One they were out of Joseph's line of vision, "Colt" sighed, green particles of light peeling off his body, revealing Cian in the same set of clothing.
"That was feckin' close, boyo," Cian sighed. "I don't keep my illusions up that long. Do you think he noticed?"
"I don't know," Spike squeaked, trying not to throw up from anxiety into a bush. "Not much gets past Joseph. But we don't have much time. Everyone is arguing about safety after what happened to El Amante. I say, as the GSA's new babyface bombshells, we should get in and out as soon as possible with the Chalice and hand it over to Joseph." Spike tapped the side of his head. "Hey, babyface bombshells. Could be a good tag idea."
Cian was already walking five steps ahead towards the quaint cottage. "Not on your life, boyo. We may be square, but I'm walking my own road, got it? Anyways, you don't really think Rage honestly wanted to help you, did he?. He's a heel. I know him! He's nearly killed me, Goddess' sake. He's trying to throw you off. Probably wants to know where the Chalice is himself."
"He's not like anybody I've ever faced before," Spike sighed. "Not even you. Anyways, Deadboy confirmed it for me too, based on the notes Icewolf snatched from Dr. Reyes. Said the next Chalice was here in some place called Glastonbury Tor."
"Riding with the bad boys these days, aren't ye, Spikey?" Cian smirked, admiring the sunlight through the trees. "I wouldn't trust him either, but I don't think he and Robbie are as much of a threat as they think they are."
"He's bitter that White Tiger beat him for the championship and now he wants to take revenge on the GSA." Spike laughed. "Heh. It's kind of cute."
The two young men approached the fairy-tale cottage's doorstep. It looked like an old house from a medieval engraving, warm and inviting. There was a good, strong energy here. An old type of magick.
Cian sniffed, rummaging in his pocket for the accommodation details. "So...is he really your boyfriend?"
Spike thought about it. "Well, he doesn't exactly hang out with me. I dunno. He doesn't feel like a boyfriend."
"Have you had a boyfriend before?"
Spike turned green. "Er...kind of. A fling, I guess. I don't want to talk about it." He swallowed. "Or ever go back to the Queendom of Hawaii, either..."
"Hm. So...did you have your eye on someone else?"
Spike cocked his head to the side. "Do you?"
Cian turned away before Spike could see his cheeks turn red. He pretended to fiddle with the lodging card Colt had given them. Gloria had attended to finding the team accommodations with hosts in-town, as hotels were scarce in the enchanted village.
It was the first time in awhile that Spike felt on vacation. It was very relaxing here. Besides that, he was starting to warm to Cian. And all it took was beating the shit out of each other.
"How are you feeling after the match?" Spike asked, genuinely.
"Fine," Cian mumbled. He was more polite now, but not exactly engaging. "Let's just get settled. I'm gonna ask our hostess if she knows anything about the chalice. This is a town of traditional magick. Even in Ireland, we know it. It's...a powerful place. Chances are, our hostess could be a sorceress."
"Ha! Come on, Cian, what are the chances our hostess is like...a witch or something."
Cian knocked on the door. It opened...of its own accord. A warm smell of spices and sugar floated out, beckoning the boys into a cheerfully decorated, cottage.
A musical, gentle voice came from the interior. "Hello lovies! Come into the kitchen so I can see you better."
Spike looked to Cian. "Yep. She's a witch."
Sara, the hostess, had an unbridled mane of dyed-pink hair, and wore a blue frilly apron. Herbs, amulets, and crystals hung from the beams in the rafters of the kitchen ceiling, and the open windows let in light and fresh breeze.
"Hello, you two," Sara said, wiping her hands on her apron. She smiled at Cian. "I think I detect a familiar accent with you, lad."
"County Meathe," Cian said, more friendly than Spike had ever heard him before.
Maybe she's already cast a spell on him
"Aye! Limerick, here. And you two are right. Can't swing a handbag without hittin' a pagan in these parts."
Spike swallowed, feeling guilty. She heard us out there! "Sorry, ma'am. Cian and I have glyphs too."
"Ah," she said, pulling up a chair. "Don't got none of my own, but that hasn't stopped me from magick yet. A lot of folks here are like that. Old ways."
"Magick without glyphs?" Spike said, intrigued. He took a seat while Sara made them tea.
"Aye! The old ways. You know, t'was us Bereft who practice the green faiths that helped turn the common folk against the nobles, back when they restricted the bloodlines to keep the magick in the hands of the monarchs." She chuckled to herself, pulling biscuits and plates from her cupboard. "Imagine thinking a gift like that belonged to a chosen few? Bet you lads don't even need magick though, with muscles like you." She winked. "Your minders must have made you drink your milk as kids growing up, I reckon."
Spike loved her. And from Cian's cheerful countenance, so did he.
After tea, Sara showed them to their room. Two twin beds. "Get settled," she said as they dropped their bags off.
As Cian stepped through the door, he winced. Spike had gotten used to him mouthing off when people asked him if he was hurt (especially during training) so Spike pretended not to notice.
Sara tossed some bedspreads and blankets onto the beds for them. "Sounds like you two came here for more than sightseeing and flexing yer muscles."
Her intuition was either razor sharp, or the people in this village really did possess an uncanny power beyond glyphs. Spike let Cian speak for them. "We're looking for something called the Chalice of Compassion."
"Ah," Sara laughed, leaning against the doorframe. "That. Lots have. Even the Albans, back during the war. Folks call it the Holy Grail. The sacred spring, a few doors down, is the Grail Well at the foot of the tour. People take bottles of the water home with them. Says it has curative properties and all that."
Sara continued. She seemed happy to talk. "Depending on who ye ask, Glastonbury is the burial place of King Arthur himself. And also depending on who you ask, it was Morgan Le Fey who came from out of the Tor."
"The Tor," Spike said, repeating the unusual word. "That's the big hill behind your house?"
"More of a mound," Sara clarified. "The Tower at the top is all that remains of the former monastery. During the morning mists, the Tor looks like an island sticking out of an ocean. That's why they thought it was Avalon, the sacred realm, between our world and the world o' the Shining Ones."
Spike saw Cian flinch. "Shining Ones?"
The Faeblood crossed his arms and looked away. "Fae."
"And I'd take a good guess some of that blood runs through you," Sara said, nodding to Cian. She pointed to the horse shoe over the doorframe. "Sorry about that."
"So that's why I got a headache all of a sudden," Cian said.
""Aye, lad. Clocked you for a Faeblood the moment you stepped through me door. Pardon the horse shoe. Keeps the troublesome ones out. But there be no shame in your heritage, lad. I'm sure I have a great auntie who were a faeire too. If anything, it means you could open a door to the otherworld."
Sara shut the door, and then made sure to shutter the windows as well. Now, she spoke in a quiet, clear voice. "I'll come clean with ye. Aradia has already contacted me. I suspect they have been in contact with some of my associated in-town as well." She sighed. "We are the guardians of the well. It is a tradition here, to mind the gateway to the Chalice."
Spike felt like he had struck gold and was all of a sudden in way over his head. "So, it's definitely here?"
"I work in prison reform for Somerset county," Sara explained. She played with her fingers, nervously. "It's a government job. I'm doing what I can to do some good. But...everyone in town has sensed it, lads. There's a darkness rising. Something bad. We're happy to lend a hand." Her eyes smiled with mischief. "But, it won't be easy. You want the good news first, or the bad news?"
Spike looked to Cian. "Er...good?"
Sara pointed vaguely to her right. "Divine Wellspring is about fifty paces thataway, as I said. You won't need to go far once you get the Chalice. The healing gardens at the foot of the Tor, said to be dug up by one of Leithe's apostles. Religions are a very syncretic thing here."
"Now, the tricky part...the Chalice of Compassion, as I understand it, is not actually on this plane of existance. But, from a certain point of view, it ain't far neither."
Spike stared blankly at her. "I'm...lost."
Sara acknowledge Cian, with great respect. "Is it okay if I speak about..."
"Yes," he said quickly. "I can trust Spike."
Not wanting to push his luck, Spike didn't respond to that. Still, he felt a warmth in his heart.
"I mentioned Avalon," Saras said. "But the physical 'bridge' to Avalon is long lost. If you conduct the right ritual--and it's not exactly difficult--the ruined tower at the top functions as a gateway." She lowered her voice once more, almost a whisper. "To Anwwn, or Tír nAill."
Spike felt a chill run up his back. He turned to Cian. "Those names ring a bell?"
"Aye..." he said, confused and nervous. "It's their lands. Lily told us that one of the Chalices was bestowed to the Shining Ones. My half-kin."
"And they aren't the sorts you want to go messin' with, or strollin' into their business unannounced," Sara said, darkly. "Still, being a halfling, you might have some leverage there, lad. But they won't give up the Chalice easy. They don't abide by human reason or our laws. They might even try to keep you there, especially seeing as you're both pretty and strapping lads!"
Spike thought briefly of buff fairy men, looking like various versions of Cian, and considered that might not be so bad. He shook the idea away, however. Can't become champion of I'm trapped in another realm.
"We'll need to come up with a plan," Cian told his reluctant partner. "Thanks, Sara. Spike, let's take walk. I want to check out the abbey."
Sara eyed him for a moment, but her smile did not fade. "Any reason why, lad?"
"Just a feeling," Cian shrugged. "Maybe I need to clear my head."
"Well, there's some fine restaurants in town I can recommend if you get hungry, later." She led them down the hallway, lined with portraits and photos of her very large family. She opened the door. "Now, mind how you go, you two!"
The boys wandered down the road towards town, passing broken farmhouse walls and the crumbling ruins of other churches and temples that had fallen ages past. Every person who they came across was dressed like the last century, but nodded graciously to them, with a twinkle in their eyes.
"She's lovely," Spike said, eying the large abbey ruin up ahead.
"Of course," Cian huffed. "All witches are."
"So...what separates a witch from like, a normal glyph user?"
"Magick is far more complicated than just glyphs, boyo. It's the old ways." He nodded. "I practice it, when I can."
"Have you cursed me?"
"Heh. Even I wanted to, it would come back to me three-times." Cian pointed towards the vaulted archway leading into the abbey courtyard. "Doing good does too though, so...hey, wait."
He stopped. Spike looked up ahead. The court was covered in beds of thick moss, running across stones and up the walls. At the head of an altar, a handsome, well-dressed, and long-haired man stood, reading from a strange and ominous tome. His eyes glowed green, as did the illuminated letters in the book.
Spike was (of course) smitten at first, but then he remembered the pretty man's face from the gala. "That's...Slayer St. George!"
Cian grit his teeth. "Firebird."
"Huh?" Attention broken, eyes reverting to normal, emerald green, Slayer St. George turned about to face the interlopers. He snarled. "Hm! Meddlesome curs! How dare you sully the sacred ground of the legendary King!" He drew a sword from a scabbard wrapped around his waist.
Spike's jaw dropped. "Cian, he has a fuckin' sword."
"DO NOT SWEAR IN CHURCH," Slayer warned. After a moment's consideration, he sheathed his blade and turned back to his book. "No matter. I have not the time to deal with you."
Cian stepped forward, ready to fight. "What's that you got there, then?"
"A tome of great import," Slayer said, the glow in his eyes rekindled. "A wretched thing. Be that as it may, even angels must make alliance with devils, for the greater good." He waved his hand across the page, and a square of light--a doorway--appeared on the wall behind the altar.
A hazey, indigo mist seeped out from the magickal doorway. It appeared to be night-time on the other side, and the scenery, though reflecting the English countryside, looked...different somehow.
"Avalon awaits," Slayer said, stepping through the door. It blinked, and faded back into the moss-covered wall.
Spike was at a loos. Things were happening to quickly and too strangely. "Where did he go."
Cian stared at the empty spot on the wall. "I know where," he sighed. "We don't have time to wait, Spike. We gotta' get to the Tor."
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