The thick black liquid inside the Seeing Chamber, that served as a portal to the realm of men, had remained obstinately still since the moment that John Dee had vanished beneath its surface on his ill-fated journey into the past. Patrick, Saint of Ireland, had remained in the room for days, then weeks, then months, watching the surface of the rock-hard fluid, and praying for some sign, no matter how slight, that Dee had made it safely to his destination. The despair grew too intense and Patrick eventually gave up. He returned to his rooms, only leaving his self-imposed isolation for short periods of time to visit the library; and even those brief trips into the outside world were conducted in such a way as to avoid company—the middle of the night being his preferred time of escape. John Dee had gone, and to the inhabitants of the small city on the side of the blue mountain, Patrick had also abandoned them.

Patrick had given up hope of ever seeing Dee again, but Patrick's childhood companion, and lifelong protector, had not. High up in the Seeing Chamber, sitting on a thick oak crossbeam, a tiny creature watched the dark, glassy surface, intently. A fait glow from the creature's small body barely penetrated the darkness of the room. The fairy played a game; it gazed at the reflected light from its own body on the dark surface until the light moved. Its brain told it that the light could not be moving as it was not moving, yet the strain on its eyes somehow gave movement to the reflection. He played the game, day after day, night after night, but the result was the same—any perceived movement on the surface of the water was nothing more than an illusion—a fragile moment of hope that was strangled in its infancy by the cruel hands of reality.

The creature closed its eyes for a moment as it prepared to restart the game. As it opened its eyes it struggled to find the reflected light. It cursed itself—it had been playing for so long that it was beginning to lose hold of reality. As he located the light the reflection was not where it had always been. Something was different. The creature's tiny heart began to beat faster. Its wings fluttered with excitement. Tarish slipped off his perch and he began to fly slowly, and with an abundance of caution, towards the surface of the liquid. Light shifted in a gentle wave across the surface. A murky image formed and then vanished in the fluid. Then again. And again. Tarish hovered six or seven feet above the surface of the portal. The liquid at the centre or the pool suddenly sank, and then rose again, spitting a man out from beneath the obsidian-like surface. Tarish recoiled and then he retreated high up into the beams. The creature flitted nervously from beam to beam as it warily watched the man below. John Dee had landed hard on the mystical bitumen as it settled and hardened to a viscous glass. He lay motionless. After several minutes of cautious observation, the little creature leapt from its roost and it swooped at speed in Dee's direction. Tarish came to a steady hover in front of Dee's face. John Dee smiled at the familiar little thing.

"Hello, old friend," Dee said, breathlessly.

The fairy left the room at high speed without saying a word. The trail of silver light left in the creature's wake quickly faded. Dee walked across the top of the dark liquid to the relative security of the stone floor by the side of the room. He sat down, and he waited. The wait was short. The poorly lit room burst into light when Tarish returned. He was glowing with excitement. A winded Patrick followed the creature. Patrick rushed to Dee's side and he helped the sorcerer to his feet.

"I feared the worse," said Patrick.

"You were right to," replied Dee.

"And? What did you learn? Did you meet the child?"

"I learned much. I met the boy."

"And? Where is he?"

"Dead."

"I don't understand."

"I met the boy. There were knights guarding the child. The knights killed me. The boy brought me back. The effort killed him."

"That's it?"

Dee smiled, widely.

"Far from it," Dee said. "We were right about the child. He was special. I know what we must do. I know why we are really here."

"You spoke to the child?" Patrick asked, confused.

"After a fashion," said Dee, cryptically. "We must go to the library. I have much to tell you."

Patrick closed his eyes. After a few moments, he cautiously opened one eye.

"What are you doing?" Dee asked.

"I thought we were going to the library?"

"We are."

"Well?"

"Aren't you going to do your thing? Magic us there?"

Dee chuckled.

"I have only just returned from the dead. Give me time to catch my breath. We can walk to the library on this occasion; there will be time enough for magic in the dark days that lie ahead."

The streets of the city were almost empty as the old friends walked at a leisurely pace towards the cathedral-like building that served as the city library.

"When we have finished in the library I must speak to Amy and Branna. There is a lot that I need to tell them," said Dee.

"The girls left with Branna's father a few days back."

Dee stopped.

"Where did they go?"

Patrick walked on; ignoring the question. Dee followed.

"We tried for months to find a way to follow you through the portal," explained Patrick. "When it looked as if all of our efforts were going nowhere, they went in search of answers elsewhere."

"Please tell me you didn't allow them to go to the kingdoms."

Patrick smiled.

"Allowed them?" Patrick mocked. "Since when have they listened to me? I didn't even know that they were heading off on their little adventure until they were gone."

Dee shook his head.

"They should not have gone," Dee said. "The beings at war in that place are more powerful than anything in all creation. The girls have no idea of the kind of danger they are in."

"You don't need to worry," said Patrick. "They know what they are."

Dee stopped again.

"They think that they know. Angelic creatures, now as feeble as any mortal. That's what they believe. That is only part of what they are. They are the first rebels. They turned on God and they were condemned to a mortal life in this place. They can live forever, if injury or disease doesn't get them, but in every other way, they are just like us. As long as they stay in the lands on the other side of this mountain."

Dee nodded in the direction of the top of the blue mountain behind them.

"They have rebelled more than once," Dee continued. "They were given many chances at atonement. They were tasked with protecting early man when he first left Eden. They were to whisper in his ear and guide him. They did not follow those instructions. Some set themselves up as gods. Some had children with humans. Those children were a messy affair. Some were great heroes, while others were monstrous and cruel. Every creature of nightmares can be traced back to those rebels and their damned offspring. And all of them inhabit those lands."

They continued to walk.

"If they are as weak and mortal as you say, then what is the problem?" asked Patrick.

"Once they are done with their wars and one king rules over them all, that king will have the power to restore his followers to their true form. In this world, and in the human realm. If that king is the wrong king, then the nightmares of the past will flood into the modern world. A world that is unable to comprehend what they are, much less defend against them. The wars they have fought in those lands have been going on for thousands of years. No one king ever attaining enough power to subdue the others. It is a perfect balance, and it has kept this world safe, and the world beyond. Branna has shifted that balance completely. In her attempt to help she may have inadvertently initiated the apocalypse."

"There's always something," Patrick said, with a gentle sigh, followed by a wry smile.

"That old friend, is most certainly true. And it gets worse. Amy Coren. We were wrong about her. She isn't a human with special abilities. She is just a human."

Patrick shook his head as he checked himself for misunderstanding.

"I don't mean that in a bad way," Dee explained. "She is merely a human, but she represents all of humanity in this place. Her gift, to see light and darkness in the hearts of men and gods, is an ability that all humans possess. And there is a lot more besides that. Humans are the cousins of the kings and their offspring, and we are also powerful."

"I am human," said Patrick.

Dee smiled.

"You were human, old friend. And so was I. We may not care to admit it, but we stopped being human, truly human, a very long time ago," Dee explained.

"I do not disagree with you on that point, John. But there is one thing that greatly concerns me... If Branna and Amy are in great danger, and worse, they are about to initiate the end of the world; why in the name of all that is holy are we heading to a library? Why are we not rescuing them? Or at the very least, warning them?"

"The boy spoke to me as he died. I say spoke... He touched my mind. He told me how to win this war. The books on magic and alchemy that I have lived and breathed all my many lifetimes hold the key to winning the great war. Those spells are powerful, but I never really understood how to use that power. I had a little success, here and there, but I could never get a proper grip on the true power contained in those words."

"Words? What use are words?"

Dee smiled.

"For a devout man you seem to have missed a lot of what the holy texts have to teach you. The right words are more powerful than any mortal weapon, or any army," said Dee.

"And you now know how to use those words? All the important words I have somehow missed?"

"Mock me if you wish old friend, but the answers that we seek were always there, hiding in plain sight. The Word. It is there, at the very beginning of our Bible. God thought, then spoke, then creation followed. Magic is not something that can be manifested by incantations and potions. That was the mistake I made. I thought I could manifest great power by commanding the words. But magic cannot be brought into existence. It has always been. When God spoke and the land, and the water, and plants, and animals, and humans came into existence, so too did magic. The words that make up the spells that are known to some, and recorded in the books of our library, they do not pull magic into our world, they simply unlock magic that has always been here. They are not evil, or holy, or unattainably esoteric; they are passwords. A security device put in place by the angels at their Lord's command."

"Why? I mean to say, why create something so powerful and so dangerous in the first place, only to have it locked behind words and meaning that only a few can understand?"

Dee smiled.

"I believe you have answered your own question. Secrets and treasure; we have protected both since time immemorial. The secret that is magic is surely our greatest treasure?"

Nothing more was said as they quickened their pace. They arrived at the stone steps to the library slightly out of breath, but when they began to climb the steps both men found their second wind. When they reached the top of the steps the large double doors to the building swung inwards to admit them. Patrick smiled at Dee.

"Your power has returned," Patrick remarked.

"It is returning, but I did not open those doors."

As they stepped inside the library they came to a sudden stop. Sitting at one of the reading tables, in the centre of the main chamber, was a familiar, and terrifying figure.

"Dee. Patrick. It has been such a long time. Why don't you join me?" Saturn said, with confident glee.

AsSaturn spoke the words two empty chairs around the table moved a short distanceof their own accord, as if in silent invitation for the men to sit.