Anything but Ordinary (17 page)

The Rhine maidens were inclined to blame one another. The constant bickering that took place when no mortal was around was threatening to resurface.  Flosshilde was already pouting.

Cindy decided, since there was still no sign of Tamar, to take a line that had been successful in the past, although how well it would work on
women
was uncertain, this being uncharted territory for Cindy. 

She choseWoglinde, who she judged to be the most susceptible. If she had been a man, she would have been the one hanging around the bar nervously, getting progressively drunk and fully expecting to slope off home around midnight alone.  In other words,Woglinde had a self esteem problem.

Slowly, Cindy reached out, shyly and yet as if she could not help herself, and she gently touchedWoglinde’s hair. Then she pulled back her hand as if she had been burned. The blush that spread over her face as she did this was genuine. 

The effect was immediate and electrifying. Woglinde smiled at Cindy; a message passed between them. Cindy caught and heldWoglinde’s gaze and for a few moments they just stared, smiling at each other. 

She switched her gaze, first toFlosshilde and then toWellgunde, they smiled. And then, it was as if she was falling into deep water. This may have been because she was. But she was unafraid. As soon as she hit the water her head began to swim, as if she had been exposed to a powerful narcotic. This was the power of the Rhine. She was vaguely aware of the Rhine maidens swimming alongside her, laughing merrily, guiding her towards the darkness at the bottom of the river. Her last coherent thought was. ‘
This
wasn’t part of the plan.’

She awoke in a lighted cave to findWoglinde stroking her hair gently and murmuring comforting words that she did not understand. 

There was no water in the cave, apart from a pool, which glowed with a strange golden light.  Cindy knew what it was; she had heard the stories. The Rheingold! She felt a sudden lust like a sharp salt taste in her mouth.

Woglinde’s hands were wandering, and Cindy sat up abruptly and pushed her away.

‘Where am I?’ she asked harshly.

Woglinde cowered away looking hurt and confused.  ‘In my home,’ she said. ‘Isn’t that what you wanted?’

‘Where?’ snapped Cindy.

‘In the river of course – Darling …’

Cindy had known it. Now she could see – outside the cave was a wall of water held back by God knows what power. She was at the bottom of the river.

‘Where are the others?’

‘Oh, they aren’t here, now,’ saidWoglinde giggling. ‘It’s just us.’

‘Good!’ said Cindy, and hitWoglinde over the head with a rock.

She judged that she if she had managed to swim down here, then she ought to be able to swim to the surface. On her way out of the cave, she grabbed the Rheingold from its pool. ‘
No
,’ calledWoglinde, whom Cindy had thought was unconscious, ‘unless you have forsaken love, it will destroy you,’

Cindy turned and gave a bitter laugh. ‘I
have
forsaken love,’ she said. ‘It has forsaken
me
, after all.’

‘But
I
love you,’ saidWoglinde despairingly.’

‘Tough break,’ sneered Cindy heartlessly and was gone, leaving poorWoglinde in a distraught heap on the floor of the cave. 

She found Tamar pacing up and down by the river bank looking cross and fed up.

‘Nothing,’ she snapped. ‘I
knew
this was a waste of time. Where the hell have
you
been?’ 

‘Distracting the Rhine maidens like you told me to. It isn’t
my
fault that Loki isn’t here either, so don’t take it out on me.’

Tamar was immediately contrite. ‘Sorry, she said. I guess I’m just pissed off about the whole thing really.’

‘Want to go home and spend some time with your sweetie?’ asked Cindy slyly.

‘Well,
yes
, actually.’ She sighed. ‘Oh well, I suppose it can’t be helped. Let’s get out of here. At least we can cross this one off the list.’

Cindy nodded distractedly. Her hand clenched around the Rheingold hidden underneath her jacket. For a moment her face flushed and her eyes burned feverishly. But the face she turned towards Tamar was bland and innocuous.

‘What a wash out!’ said Tamar as they disappeared.

* * *

Stiles was holding what he called a “bull session” whereby everyone sat around throwing ideas, good, bad or indifferent and sometimes just ridiculous, into the hat for the consideration of the group. No one was allowed to pass judgement on these ideas, no matter how silly or irrelevant. That was the number one rule. And everyone had to contribute at least one suggestion.

The idea was to supplement Denny’s research into possible sites of water with mystical or mythical properties. These had so far ranged from “Loch Ness” – Melissa, to “Lourdes” – Cindy.

Tamar stuck withBroscelainde in Brittany. But there were many other sites that mirrored this one all over Europe.

The Aethernet search had turned up a grand total of seventeen legendary bodies of water most of which had their origins far in the past. Shangri La in Tibet, (said to contain a fountain of youth) the secret kingdom of Borges, (the location of which is entirely unknown) where Borges supposedly met Homer and other ancient Greeks, who had been alive there for centuries.Dragphug Maratika in present day Nepal where Guru Rinpoche had supposedly gained immortality inMaratika after drinking the water, and many others spread all over the globe. It was a frightening conclusion given the time factor. Somehow, they had to narrow it down. 

In the meantime, there was nothing else for it but to start visiting these locations, but there was a feeling of futility about the whole thing. 

* * *

Melissa was discovering that trekking through the jungle was
not
her strong suit, as she had suspected.  Stiles, however, who had elected to join her on this one, was taking to it like Indiana Jones.  It was hard not to admire him really, she thought, slashing his way through the undergrowth thoughtfully and persistently pausing only occasionally to puff on an outsized cigar. Melissa, on the other hand, was hot, sweaty, dirty and out of breath. She hated it here. The whole place was
alive
. Every other minute she saw something that made her want to scream. Snakes, spiders, and huge, scary birds with beaks like razor blades. She hated it all. 

The Peruvian fountain of youth turned out to be a series of pools, lakes and muddy puddles, none of which looked very mystical to Melissa, but she obediently took samples and tested them for genuine magical properties. There were none that she could detect.

Stiles was philosophical about it. ‘You can’t expect to hit the jackpot right away,’ was all he said about it.

* * *

Cindy was in Lourdes; she had insisted on this and had taken no one with her, saying she would be better on her own.  She checked the waters quickly, found nothing in them (which was what she had expected) and then took off to regions unknown for quite some time. At least, she was gone far longer than anyone had expected her to be. And when she returned, she would not say where she had been. 

* * *

‘Do you think Merlin’s really in there? Denny was peering over a wall at what was purportedly the last resting place of the world’s most famous wizard (not even saving the presence of Harry Potter).

‘Well if he is, it’s only his little finger,’ said Tamar. ‘That’s all that’d be left if the poor man is in all the graves he’s supposed to be in.’

‘Oh,’ said Denny feeling slightly disappointed.

I think … wasn’t he supposed to have been frozen in some cave somewhere?’ she added uncertainly. Denny was supposed to know this stuff.

But he just shrugged. ‘Dunno,’ he said. I always assumed it was just a story. Well, what about it, is there any real magic here or not?’ 

‘Not.’

‘So, not even his little finger then?’

Denny and Tamar were on a European tour starting with Brittany and then taking in Geneva, Russia, Glastonbury, supposed location of the mysterious lady of the lake – she was not in (something about this nagged at Tamar’s brain) and Loch Ness, which was worth a try. Tamar gave the monster a scare, and they went home, empty handed and dispirited. 

* * *

After several more abortive trips to Mongolia, Nepal, Pakistan and other places too numerous to mention, it was time to make a start on those places that were legendary in themselves – as opposed to being real places with legends woven around them. 

The problem with these places was that they were legendary; no one knew where, if anywhere, they existed. However, the legends gave clues.

Shangri La was supposed to be in Tibet for example. This was a start.

Mulehet, where the old man of the mountains trained his assassins in a magical paradise was said to be within the Alborz mountains south of the Caspian Sea. It was not exactly a map reference. But it was better than nothing. 

Bimini, the mythical land of the Fountain of youth that was the object of the explorer Ponce de Leon was reputed to be somewhere in the Bahamas. 

And so on.

* * *

‘I don’t understand why we’re even
doing
this?’ said Melissa to Ray. ‘I mean, it’s not that I mind helping, but we’re wasting our time, aren’t we?’

The two remaining members of Team Alpha (Slick did not count; he had left the agency officially when he took asylum with Tamar’s gang) tended to stick together, keeping themselves apart from the rest of the household. There was plenty of room in the house for fifty people to be alone somewhere. Melissa and Ray were in the second conservatory. An empty, forsaken part of the property, furnished only with cracked plant pots. Two of these, upturned, were being used by Melissa and Ray as seats. 

‘It may
seem
like a waste of time,’ said Denny appearing like a pantomime demon in the doorway to the extreme surprise of them both. ‘But we’ve learned the hard way, that you don’t get results without putting in the work. You have to go through all the wrong answers before you get to the right one. Usually from the most unexpected place, where you weren’t even looking for it in the first place. But there are no shortcuts.’ He grinned wolfishly. ‘We appreciate your help,’ he said and then left as suddenly as he had arrived. 

‘Is it just me,’ said Melissa, ‘or is that guy scary?’

‘Very intimidating,’ agreed Ray cautiously looking around as if he expected Denny to suddenly pop up again. ‘Funny really, I mean, he doesn’t
look
like he should be scary, but he is.

‘I kind of like him though,’ he added.

‘Yeah, me too,’ said Melissa. ‘Strange, isn’t it?’

* * *

‘Okay, you hang around looking like potential assassin material, and I’ll stay out of sight.’

‘How
exactly
am I supposed to look as if I’m potential assassin material?’ asked Denny pettishly

‘Just look like you always look,’ said Tamar. ‘Moody.’

‘Yeah, like that,’ she said, as Denny’s face creased into a frown.

‘Nice to see being married hasn’t changed our relationship,’ said Denny caustically.

‘That’s right,’ said Tamar smiling cheerfully.

‘They were dressed as hikers, this being the modern equivalent of “lost in the mountains” which was, according to the tales of Marco Polo, the condition of the young men normally associated with the legends of the old man of the mountains.

Tamar vanished from view, leaving Denny apparently alone and feeling horribly exposed. This was not the kind of honeymoon he had envisaged. It was, however, the kind of honeymoon he had
expected
. It was just the way their life always was.

The story went that these young men were lured to a hidden paradise and then, once they had become addicted to its pleasures, sent back into the world and told that they would only regain admittance by doing the old man’s bidding. The assassination of various princes, kings, sultans, viziers etc.  So desperate were these men to get back to their Earthly Nirvana, that they became the deadliest band of men in the world. 

If the old man was still around (and there was good reason to suppose that he was) Denny was not looking forward to meeting him.

However, it had been decided that he was the best qualified of all the men in the group to face the test. Still, Tamar had insisted on going with him. 

He sat on a handy rock looking despondent (or moody, as Tamar would have it) and waited.

It did not take long. From apparently out of nowhere there appeared an old man. Denny knew he was an old man from the bent back and the constant litany he was muttering along the lines of. ‘Oh, dear, my poor old legs,’ etc.

‘It’s him,’ came a voice in his head,
Tamar.
  He fought the urge to shush her and stood up slowly, his face a mask of concern as the old man approached. He was not at all convinced that it
was
him, yet who else …?

‘Who do you think you’re kidding?’ said the old man unexpectedly. He looked Denny right in the eye and winked. ‘You’re no ordinary hiker. Do you think I’m daft?’

Denny sighed. Every
single
time, it happened. These encounters always turned out this way. You met a beautiful goddess, and she harangued you like a fishwife or a hideous spider demon who turned out to have an inferiority complex. If Denny had awakened the Sleeping Beauty, she would probably have said ‘What time do you call this?’ and gone back to sleep.

Any minute now, the old codger was going to start complaining about how it “wasn’t like this in the old days” or something similar.

‘What are you anyway?’ said the old man surprisingly. ‘You’re not a demon, nor a wizard,
definitely
not an angel. What’s your power?’

‘I’ll show you mine, if you show me yours,’ said Denny, quick as a flash.

‘Ha, so that’s the game is it?’ said the old man. ‘You want to see my little paradise. Well, why should I?’

‘Because if you don’t,’ said Denny, suddenly uncloaking the hidden menace that lurked behind his friendly smile. ‘I
will
show you mine. Do you stay immortal if your head comes off?’