October 28, 2012
Abbot Athanasius knelt in prayer on the cold stone floor of his monastery cell meditating upon the wounds of the crucified Lord. "Longinus, faithful servant, and protector of the Lord’s flock, said a voice he had not heard in more than a century. Saint Jude, the Apostle, clad in a white robe, appeared to him once before, on a night, much like this night, and sent him to assist the Bishop Amadeus Rappe in defeating an ancient demon which plagued his diocese.
“You must once again take up the lance in his service, for the work of Rappe has been undone. Seek allies old and new in the Metropolis of the Western Reserve.” And then there was darkness.
The next day, a priest from the Vatican arrived in a motor car with a plane ticket. Longinus had neither traveled in a car nor ridden in an airplane. But when he arrived at Cleveland Hopkins, an old englishman, who he had met before awaited him.
“Magus Harrington. Salve,” said Longinus, giving the Roman salute.
“Ahem, yes. Habits die hard, old friend, I know. But the salutation of the Latins still carries a stigma since the last War.”
“Of course,” said Longinus moving his outstretched hand to atop his crosier. “I knew the Lord would provide for his faithful servant, but i did not expect to see you.”
Harrington pulled out a parchment and read: “Gerald Harrington, Wizard of the White Council, Warden of Cleveland, the White Council has received word that the Centurion journeys to your jurisdiction. See to it that his needs are provided for as he conducts his sacred duty. The Council expects to be apprised of his activity. He shall arrive at Cleveland Hopkins on…yada yada yada.”
“I’d be interested to know how the White Council knew I was coming to Cleveland, when I only found out yesterday.”
“The Lord works in mysterious ways…”
“To find an old friend.”
- * * * * * * * *
“Just where I left you,” said Longinus, looking around the dank cavern. “Have you been asleep this whole time?”
“What year is it?” asked Mokwa.
“Good question” replied Longinus looking to Harrington.
“2012” said Harrington.
“2012,” said Longinus.
“The spirits have been restless. I thought if i just ignored them, they’d let me sleep. Now you show up. Whenever you show up, bad things happen.”
“As i once told a young man who visited the monastery, ‘All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is that good men slumber.’”
“Yeah, well, watch me,” Mokwa said as he closed his eyes. Then with a smile, one eye shot open, and he laughed.
“Wizard Harrington, meet Mokwa, nicest pagan shaman wear-bear i know.”