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“You see, what became clear to me almost immediately was that she was speaking of two different lives, a very long one which she was living now, and a life she’d lived before.”

  “Two lives? Then you mean, simply, reincarnation.”

  “After a long while, she explained,” said Gordon. He was now so passionately involved in his tale, he seemed to have forgotten the danger to him. “She said that all her kind had two lives, sometimes more,” he went on. “That you were born knowing all you needed to know to survive, but then gradually an earlier life came back to you, and bits and pieces of others. And it was the memory of this earlier life that kept you from going mad among human beings.”

  “You had realized,” asked Rowan, “by this time, that she wasn’t human. She would have fooled me.”

  “No. Not at all. I thought she was human. Of course, there were strange characteristics to her-her translucent skin, her tremendous height, and her unusual hands. But I didn’t think, ‘No, this being isn’t human.’

  “It was she who said that she wasn’t human. She said it more than once. Her people lived before humans. They had lived thousands of years in peace on islands in the northern seas. These islands were warmed by volcanic springs from the depths, by geysers of steam, and pleasant lakes.

  “And this she knew, not because she herself had lived at that time, but because others she had known in her first lifetime could remember a former life in this paradise, and that was how her people knew their history, through the inevitable and always singular remembrance of earlier lives.

  “Don’t you see? It was incredible, the idea that everyone would come into this world with some distinct and valuable historical memories! It meant that the race knew more of itself than humans could possibly know. It knew of earlier ages from, so to speak, firsthand experience!”

  “And if you bred Tessa to another of her race,” said Rowan, “you would have a child who could remember an earlier life-and then perhaps another child and another life remembered.”

  “Exactly! The chain of memory would be established, and who knows how far back it would go, for each one, remembering some earlier existence, remembering the tales of those he had known and loved in that time who remembered having lived before!”

  Ash listened to all this without comment, or any perceptible change of emotion. None of it seemed to surprise him or offend him. Yuri almost smiled. It was the same simplicity he’d observed in Ash at Claridge’s, when they had first spoken.

  “Someone else might have dismissed Tessa’s claims,” said Gordon, “but I recognized the Gaelic words she used, the bits of Old English, the Latin, and when she wrote down the runic script, I could read it! I knew she told the truth.”

  “And this you kept to yourself,” said Rowan, neutrally, as if merely trying to quell Gordon’s annoying emotion and get back on track.

  “Yes! I did. I almost told Aaron about it. The more Tessa talked, the more she spoke of the Highlands, of early Celtic rituals and customs, of Celtic saints even, and the Celtic church.

  “You do know that our church in England then was Celtic or Briton or whatever you want to call it, founded by the Apostles themselves, who had come from Jerusalem to Glastonbury. We had no connection with Rome. It was Pope Gregory and his henchman, St. Augustine, who thrust the Roman church on Britain.”

  “Yes, but then you did not tell Aaron Lightner?” asked Ash, raising his voice just slightly. “You were saying …?”

  “Aaron had already gone to America. He had gone there to make contact once more with the Mayfair witches, and to pursue other paths in psychic investigation. It was no time to question Aaron about his early research. And then, of course, I had done something wrong. I had taken a woman entrusted to me as a member of the Order, and I had kept her for myself, almost a prisoner. Of course, there has never been anything stopping Tessa from leaving, nothing but her own fear. But I had closeted this woman away. I had told the Order nothing about it.”

  “But how did you make the connection?” asked Ash. “Between Tessa and the Mayfair witches?”

  “Oh, it wasn’t that difficult at all. One thing followed upon another. As I said, Tessa’s speech was full of references to archaic Highland customs. She spoke over and over of the circles of stones built by her people and later used by the Christians for bizarre rituals to which their priests could never put a stop.

  “You know our mythology, surely all of you, some of you. The ancient myths of Britain are full of mythic giants. Our stories say the giants built the circles, and so did Tessa. Our giants lingered long after their time in the dark and remote places, in the caves by the sea, in the caves of the Highlands. Well, Tessa’s giants, hunted from the earth, almost annihilated, also survived in secret places! And when they did dare to appear among human beings, they incited both worship and fear. It was the same, she said, with the Little Folk, whose origins had been forgotten. They were revered on the one hand, and feared on the other. And often the early Christians of Scotland would dance and sing within the circle of stones, knowing that the giants had once done this-indeed, had built the circles for that purpose-and they would, by their music, lure the giants from hiding, so that the giants came down to join the dance, at which point these Christians would slaughter them to satisfy the priests, but not before using them to satisfy old gods.”

  “How do you mean, ‘using them’?” asked Rowan.

  Gordon’s eyes glazed slightly, and his voice dropped to a soft, nearly pleasant tone, as if the mere mention of these things could not but evoke a sense of wonder.

  “Witchcraft, that is what we are talking about-early, blood-drenched witchcraft, in which superstition, under the yoke of Christianity, reached back into a pagan past for magic, to do maleficia, or to gain power, or only to witness a dark secret rite which thrilled them as criminal acts have always thrilled humankind. I longed to corroborate Tessa’s stories.

  “Without confiding in anyone, I went to the very cellars of the Motherhouse, the places where the oldest unexamined material on British folklore had been stored. These were manuscripts that had been deemed ‘fanciful’ and ‘irrelevant’ by the scholars, like Aaron, who had spent years translating old documents. This material did not exist in our modern inventory or our modern computer banks. One had to touch the crumbling pages with one’s own hand.

  “Oh, what I found! Crumbling quartos and books of beautifully illustrated parchment, the works of Irish monks and the Benedictines and the Cistercians, complaining of the mad superstition of the common people, and filled with tales of these giants and these Little Folk, and how the common people persisted in believing in them, in luring them out, in using them in various ways.

  “And right there, mixed in with these ranting condemnations, were tales of giant saints! Giant knights and kings!

  “Here, at Glastonbury, only a little way from where we sit now, a giant of seven feet was unearthed in former times, and declared to be King Arthur. What was this but one of Tessa’s giants, I ask you? Such creatures have been found all over Britain.

  “Oh, a thousand times I was tempted to call Aaron. How Aaron would have loved these stories, especially those which had come directly from the Highlands and its haunted lochs and glens.

  “But there was only one person in this world in whom I could confide. And that was Tessa.

  “And as I brought home my carefully excavated stories, Tessa recognized these rituals, these patterns-indeed, the names of saints and kings. Of course, Tessa didn’t speak with sophisticated words. It came in fragments from her, how her people had become a sacred quarry, and could save themselves from torture and death only by rising to power and gaining sway over the Christians, or by fleeing deeper and deeper into the great forests which still covered the mountains in those years, and into the caves and the secret valleys where they struggled to live in peace.”

  “And this you never told Aaron,” said Yuri.

  Gordon ignored the words. He continued:

  “Then, in a painful v
oice, Tessa confessed to me that she had once suffered horribly at the hands of Christian peasants, who had imprisoned her and forced her to receive man after man from all the villages round. The hope was that she would give birth to another giant like herself, a giant who would spring from the womb, speaking, knowing, and growing to maturity within hours-a creature which the villagers might then have killed before her eyes!

  “It had become a religion to them, don’t you see? Catch the Taltos, breed it, sacrifice the offspring. And Christmas, that time of ancient pagan rituals, had become their favorite period for the sacred game. From this hideous captivity Tessa had finally escaped, having never given birth to the sacrificial creature, and only suffering a flow of blood from the seed of each human man.”

  He stopped, his brows knit. His face became sad, and he looked at Ash.

  “This is what hurt my Tessa? This is what dried the fount?” It wasn’t so much a question as a confirmation of what had been revealed earlier, only Ash, feeling no need, apparently, to confirm it, did not speak.

  Gordon shuddered.

  “She spoke of horrible things!” he said. “She talked of the males lured down into the circles, and of the village maidens offered to them; but if the giant was not born to such a maiden, death would surely result. And when enough maidens had died that the people doubted the power of this male giant, he was then burnt as the sacrifice. Indeed, he was always burnt, whatever the outcome, or whether or not he had fathered a sacrificial offspring, because the males were so greatly feared.”

  “So they didn’t fear the women,” said Rowan. “Because the women didn’t bring death to the human men who lay with them.”

  “Exactly,” said Gordon. “However!” He held up his finger with a little delighted smile. “However! It did now and then happen, yes! That the male giant or the female giant did parent, as it were, the magical child of its own race. And there would be this newborn giant for all to behold.

  “No time was more propitious for such a union than Christmas, December Twenty-fifth, the feast of the old solar god! And it was said then-when a giant was born-that the heavens had once again copulated with the earth, and out of the union had come a great magic, as had happened at the First Creation; and only after great feasting, and singing of the Christmas songs, was the sacrifice carried out in Christ’s name. Now and then a giant fathered or mothered many such offspring, and Taltos mated with Taltos, and the fires of sacrifice filled the glens, the smoke rising to heaven, bringing an early spring and warm winds and good rains, and making the crops grow.”

  Gordon broke off, turning enthusiastically to Ash. “You must know all of this. You yourself could give us links in the chain of memory. Surely you too have lived an earlier life. You could tell us things which no human can ever discover in any other way. You can tell them with clarity and power, for you’re strong, and not addled, like my poor Tessa! You can give us this gift.”

  Ash said nothing. But his face had darkened, and Gordon seemed not at all aware of it.

  He’s a fool, thought Yuri. Perhaps that is what great schemes of violence always require-a romantic fool.

  Gordon turned to the others, even to Yuri, to whom he appealed now. “Don’t you understand? Surely you understand now what such possibilities meant to me?”

  “What I know,” said Yuri, “is that you didn’t tell Aaron. And you didn’t tell the Elders, either, did you? The Elders never knew. Your brothers and sisters never knew!”

  “I told you. I could trust no one with my discoveries, and frankly, I would not. They were mine. Besides, what would our beloved Elders have said, if ‘said’ is even appropriate for their endless silent communications! A fax would have come through directing me to bring Tessa to the Motherhouse at once, and to-No, this discovery was mine by right. I had found Tessa.”

  “No, you lie to yourself and everyone else,” said Yuri. “Everything that you are is because of the Talamasca.”

  “That’s a contemptible thought! Have I given the Talamasca nothing? Besides, it was never my idea to hurt our own members! The doctors involved, yes, I agreed to this, though again I would never have proposed it.”

  “You did kill Dr. Samuel Larkin?” asked Rowan in her low, expressionless voice, probing but not meaning to alarm him.

  “Larkin, Larkin … Oh, I don’t know. I get confused. You see, my helpers had some very different notions from mine, about what was required to keep the whole thing secret. You might say I went along with the more daring aspects of the plan. In truth, I can’t imagine simply killing another human being.”

  He glared at Ash, accusingly.

  “And your helpers, their names?” asked Michael. His tone was not unlike Rowan’s, low-key, entirely pragmatic. “The men in New Orleans, Norgan and Stolov, you invited those men to share these secrets?”

  “No, of course not,” declared Gordon. “They weren’t really members, any more than Yuri here was a member. They were merely investigators for us, couriers, that kind of thing. But by that time it had … it had gotten out of hand, perhaps. I can’t say. I only know my friends, my confidants, they felt they could control those men with secrets and money. That’s what it’s always about, corruption-secrets and money. But let’s get away from all that. What matters here is the discovery itself. That is what is pure and what redeems everything.”

  “It redeems nothing!” said Yuri. “For gain you took your knowledge! A common traitor, looting the archives for personal gain.”

  “Nothing could be farther from the truth,” declared Gordon.

  “Yuri, let him go on,” said Michael quietly. Gordon calmed himself with remarkable will, appealing to Yuri again in a manner that infuriated Yuri.

  “How can you think that my goals were other than spiritual?” asked Gordon. “I, who have grown up in the shadow of Glastonbury Tor, who all his life has been devoted to esoteric knowledge, only for the light it brings into our souls?”

  “It was spiritual gain, perhaps,” said Yuri, “but it was gain, personal gain. And that is your crime.”

  “You try my patience,” said Gordon. “Perhaps you should be sent from this room. Perhaps I should say nothing more….”

  “Tell your story,” said Ash calmly. “I’m growing impatient.”

  Gordon stopped, gazed at the table, one eyebrow raised, as if to say he need not settle for this ultimatum. He looked at Ash coldly.

  “How did you make the connection?” asked Rowan. “Between all of this and the Mayfair witches?”

  “I saw a connection at once. It had to do with the circle of stones. I had always known the original tale of Suzanne, the first Mayfair, the witch of the Highlands who had called up a devil in the circle of stones. And I had read Peter van Abel’s description of that ghost and how it pursued him, and taunted him, and evinced a will far stronger than any human haunt.

  “The account of Peter van Abel was the first record of the Mayfair witches which Aaron translated, and it was to me, naturally, that he came with many questions about the old Latin. Aaron was always coming to me in those days for assistance.”

  “How unfortunate for him,” said Yuri.

  “Naturally it occurred to me, what if this Lasher were the soul of another species of being seeking to reincarnate? How well it fitted the whole mystery! And Aaron had only lately written from America that the Mayfair family faced its darkest hour when the ghost who would be made flesh was threatening to come through.

  “Was this the soul of a giant wanting its second life? At last my discoveries had become too momentous. I had to share them. I had to bring into this those I trusted.”

  “But not Stolov and Norgan.”

  “No! My friends … my friends were of an entirely different ilk. But you’re confusing me. Stolov and Norgan weren’t involved then. No. Let me continue.”

  “But they were in the Talamasca, these friends,” said Rowan.

  “I will tell you nothing of them except that they were … they were young men in whom I believed.”<
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  “You brought these friends here, to the tower?”

  “Indeed not,” said Stuart. “I’m not that much of a fool. Tessa I revealed to them, but in a spot chosen by me for the purpose, in the ruin of Glastonbury Abbey, on the very spot where the skeleton of the seven-foot giant had been unearthed, only to be later reinterred.

  “It was a sentimental thing, my taking her there, to stand over the grave of one of her own. And there I allowed her to be worshiped by those whom I trusted to help with my work. They had no idea that her permanent abode was less than a mile away. They were never to know.

  “But they were dedicated and enterprising. They suggested the very first scientific tests. They helped me obtain with a syringe the first blood from Tessa, which was sent to various laboratories for anonymous analysis. And then we had the first firm proof that Tessa was not human! Enzymes, chromosomes, it was all quite beyond me. But they understood it.”

  “They were doctors?” Rowan asked.

  “No. Only very brilliant young men.” A shadow passed over his face, and he glanced viciously at Yuri.

  Yes, your acolytes, Yuri thought. But he said nothing. If he interrupted again, it would be to kill Gordon.

  “Everything was so different at that point! There were no plots to have people killed. But then, so much more was to happen.”

  “Go on,” said Michael.

  “My next step was obvious! To return to the cellars, to all the abandoned folklore, and research only those saints of exceedingly great size. And what should I come upon but a pile of hagiography-manuscripts saved from destruction at the time of Henry VIII’s ghastly suppression of the monasteries, and dumped in our archives along with thousands of other such texts.

  “And … And among these treasures was a carton marked by some long-dead secretary or clerk: ‘Lives of the Scottish Saints.’ And the hastily scribbled subtitle: ‘Giants’!

  “At once I happened upon a later copy of an early work by a monk at Lindisfarne, writing in the 700s, who told the tale of St. Ashlar, a saint of such magic and power that he had appeared among the Highlanders in two different and separate eras, having been returned by God to earth, as was the Prophet Isaiah, and who was destined, according to legend, to return again and again.”