It was a warm day, the sun high in the noontide, the sky a fantastic blue and nearly cloudless. She was working in the manor's garden, a task that was both enjoyable and relaxing. A tall woman, thin and graceful; noble nose, strong jaw, long straight hair, a pale wintery blue. Piercing eyes, blue also, unnaturally so; incisive and deep, oceanic. On her knees, she dug at the earth with a trowel, turning the soil over to prepare it for planting.
It was a simple joy, to know the land and grow fruit and vegetables from it. What were chores for some were a pleasure for her. It took her mind away from the thoughts that weighed her down, and they were many.
Thoughts that few others in the world would understand.
A sound came from the direction of the road. Surprised, she glanced up, wary at first, but then quickly relaxing again. It was just a car, not anything ... more concerning. The vehicle was an old model and make she didn't recognise; not that she was familiar with the names of manufacturers anyhow, but at least the shape of it was memorable from distant times past. A large black four-door sedan, it looked like a refurbished luxury town car that had to be at least 70 years old, maybe more. Brushing the dirt from her gardening gloves, she wandered across to the section's fence as it pulled up next to the verge, the engine shutting off.
The sole occupant opened the driver's door, and climbed out.
Average height, slightly pudgy, nondescript face except for his fine cheekbones, the man clearly had a liking for the darker colours. Black trenchcoat, black fedora, black trousers and an off-white button-up collar shirt under a red vest; the entire ensemble, in combination with the vehicle, seemed to have emerged from a style that existed decades ago. He didn't look at her initially, instead pulling out a packet of cigarettes and lighting one. Then he rounded the car, approaching 'til he was a couple of feet short of the fence.
"Forgive me." She greeted him. "I don't think I know you."
"Agent Crawley." His voice was deeper than she expected, with the particular rasp of a habitual smoker to it. He glanced around the garden, the manor, the nearby fields, then back to her. He gave a small nod. "Nice place ya got. Pleasant. Quiet. You'd be ... uh, miss? Ms? M'lady?" He floundered for a couple of moments, not sure what form of address to use.
She smiled. "Please, no titles. Just ... Triskeleth." She visually swept him from head to toe once more. "You are here because of the Conclave?"
Crawley snorted, the comment somehow amusing, and then began to cough, blasts of smoke coming out his nose, struggling for breath. "Thought ya knew the future?" He hacked once, clearing his lungs with a mouthful of fresh air, and then went back to the cigarette without pause. "Y'know, the way they speak, makes it sound like yer all-knowing. Would even say 'god-like' but, well, we both know that ain't the truth."
"I would never presume to claim such a mantle." She shook her head. "No, that is far beyond me; it is the realm of others."
"Others." He grunted, unimpressed. "I'll be totally square wi' ya, Mi- ... uh, Triskeleth. I don't like yer type. I don't like that I have to deal with ya 'cause of what's goin' on. It's due to those 'others' that we're all in this gigantic kerfuffle in the first place. Even if ya ain't 'divine'," he placed the word in air quotes, the cigarette dancing with his fingers, "yer all still actin' the part. Bastards to the core, thinkin' yer lords of the castle, better'n all the rest 'cause of what you are." He sniffed, licking his lips, and took another drag. "Fire or water, rock or sky; it's all the same damn thing with you lot. Playin' poker with th' planet while us mere mortals clean up after."
"You have a very low opinion. We never wanted this to happen. We have tried our best to aid you." She sighed, a soft gentle sound, leaning on the garden fence. "I wish you would believe that."
"Maybe. Least yer doin' somethin', I'll admit. More'n can be said for some." He looked away across the fields, the breeze twisting the line of smoulder into curling shapes. "I was there, y'know. When the Order found the eighth piece of the Fear, that is. 2004. It was a hell of a day. Hell of a year, actually. Heard ya helped them track it down." He glanced back to her slyly, questioning. "Any chance we can repeat that?"
"It isn't that simple, Agent Crawley. Some things are beyond my sight. The final ninth piece is lost to me." She paused, considering it, and they stared at one another. "You do realise it is inevitable they find it, don't you? They will complete the circle, one day. The nature of prophecy is inescapable. It has never been wrong."
"First time for everything." His mouth split into a cynical grimace. "Ain't the sort to sit 'round and let the apocalypse happen. Not without a fight. I ain't really here ta squawk 'bout the Fear, neither. I told the Order I'd deliver the news, so here I am, and here it is." He took another drag. "They stole the damn incantation. Now, maybe ya think this is all fate and there's no way out, but my job is all about takin' the impossible and choppin' off the first two letters. They're gonna want ya. They're gonna look for ya. When they find ya, it'll be torture 'til ya break, then ya do what they want, and then ... they'll kill ya. You know better'n me how good those cultist bastards are at gettin' results."
She knew.
The things they could -- and would -- do, were uniquely unpleasant.
Dark things.
"So, yer gonna need to leave. I'm here to make sure ya do it. Go somewhere far from here. Choose a place nobody knows. Not the Order, not anybody but yer own self. Force the Conclave to search every little corner of the country."
She really didn't want to do that, but she knew she had to. It was what the lady would expect of her. Regardless about how inevitable she believed it was, the enemy was the enemy and she would not play into their hands by making it easy. What Crawley was asking was expected and sensible.
"I have a place I can go." She nodded to him, pulling off her gardening gloves as she talked. "Though, you came a long way just to deliver a message like this."
"Well, the Order has a terrible track record recently." He shrugged, turning, and began to slowly walk round to the driver's side, the cigarette nearly finished. "Want somethin' done right, do it yerself. Words ta live by." He opened the door and looked across to her. "That, and I wanted ta meet ya. Might be the last chance I get. See for myself what the great Triskeleth is like."
"And?"
"She ain't nothin' special." The reply was dismissive and derisive, but behind it, she could see, hidden amid the mistrust and dislike, a tiny sliver of respect. A grudging small thing that was bare acknowledged, but it was there. He gave a tiny nod, the merest show of civility, and tipped his fedora to her. "Farewell, seeress. Best of fortune to ya, in whatever yer future brings."
He climbed into his car, then moments later the engine started and it began to circle around, and drive off. In less than a minute it was out of sight, the afternoon becoming still once more. Triskeleth watched the dust settle, heart heavy and mind full of the burden she carried.
She did not know how long it would be, but she knew that it had begun.
They had the incantation.
The end was coming.
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