__The Bird Bone Flute__part 4
By Blackmare



Finding his way to the kitchen, Giles put the kettle on and poked through the cupboards to find the tea things. He could hear the brothers singing the morning office faintly down the hall. Giles splashed milk into a cup, poured in the tea, then sat down at the table, huddling around that small warmth and concentrating on the sunlit garden outside the east-facing window. He tried to reclaim the peace he'd been given last night, but could only find it in tatters that did not last long in the desolation left by the dream.

Amos entered the kitchen almost silently, the rubber-shod feet of his walker making little noise on the stone floor. Giles heard him pause a moment, then come over toward the table. Nevertheless, he started slightly when Amos's hand closed over his shoulder and gave him a firm squeeze. It lingered for a moment, then the old man stepped away and maneuvered himself into a chair across from Giles. As the monk got himself settled, Giles poured him a cup of tea.

"You had a difficult night," Amos said gently.

Giles looked up sharply, ready to defend his weakened borders. But the older man busied himself with his spoon. The monk sipped his tea, added a little more sugar.

"Joseph would like to talk to you this morning, Rupert. He's usually at his best right after breakfast."

"I look forward to seeing him," Giles said too quickly, relieved by this non sequitor.

Several long minutes passed, during which a rotund calico came sauntering in, gave Giles a scalding look, jumped up onto Amos' lap and started to wash. She had a powerful purr that carried right across the table.

"Better than a hot water bottle," Amos smiled up at him, cupping his arthritic hands up against the soft body.

"But she doesn't like trespassers in her kitchen." Giles replied.

"Well, no, she runs a very tight ship here. But a strategically placed morsel of something might open negotiations."

"Shall I start us some breakfast, then?" Giles asked.

"I would enjoy a bit of egg on toast, if you're going to do for yourself. The eggs are in the back corner of the pantry. Bread's in the bin next to the stove."

"Shall I make something for the others, then?" Giles asked as he started gathering ingredients and implements.

"James'd be grateful. He's a two egg man, with beans. There's an open can in the refrigerator. And Joseph'll have the same as me."

Thankful for the task, Giles deftly produced four plates of breakfast, slipping the last egg into place just as James came down the corridor into the room.

"I thought I smelled something wonderful," the tall man said. "It's nice to see that Amos has started your training so quickly." He easily identified which plates went to whom, set his own on a tray with Joseph's, grabbed utensils, and added two cups of tea.

"Thank you for the help," he said, catching and holding Giles' eyes. "I really do appreciate it. Why don't you come on along to see us when you're done? Second door on the left." Then he scooped up the tray and was gone.

Giles and Amos ate in a silence that grew more comfortable. Giles found it difficult to be anxious in the company of such kindness. He dipped a bit of bacon in the runny yolk of his egg and held it out to the calico, who gave him a stern glare before surrendering to temptation and giving the tidbit a cautious sniff. She carefully licked at a yellow drip, then gingerly took the whole thing in her mouth and thumped down to the floor to address it properly.

"I suspect that her ladyship will reconsider her opinion about you," Amos smiled. "Yolk is one of her very favorite things."

"I was raised right. When I was a boy we had a cat who'd nip under the table and attack your ankle if you didn't offer the proper tithe." While Giles washed up the breakfast things, the cat delivered her judgment by leaning briefly against his calves as he stood at the sink. She tapped him daintily with her nose and rubbed the side of her face down his trousers to mark him. He looked down to see her tail rise up along his leg, curl elegantly over, and then form a tidy question mark as she processed down the hallway without a backward glance.

"Well, you've been accepted on a trial basis," Amos said from the table, "and she seems willing to consider the possibility that you might be here tomorrow."

"That's a relief. I'd hate to offend so early in my visit."

"You are clearly a man who knows who holds the real power in this house," Amos gave a wheezy chuckle. "Why don't you leave those and go along to see Joseph. I'll take care of this." Giles responded with raised brows and Amos made a shooing gesture once he'd risen from the table.

The abbot's room brimmed with morning light. He sat up in his bed propped on pillows with various books strewn among the folds of blanket. A pale harness of tubing lay across his cheeks, delivering a silent stream of oxygen directly into his nostrils. Yet the face he turned to Giles when he entered the room was serene, alert, and cheerful.

"Young Rupert Giles," the old man said, extending his hand. "Welcome back among us."

Giles took the offered hand and settled into the chair that James positioned behind him. The abbot kept Giles' hand in his own, and the younger man could sense evidence of what had surely been a powerful grip in its time but now lay entangled among the swollen knuckles.

"It's been, what, twenty-three years and some months since you came up her to help us feed our kid goats." He beamed at Giles, who was somewhat startled by the precision of the abbot's recollection.

"Well, fishing has never been my sport, really. Uncle Roderick tried more than once but I just didn't peg what the attraction was," he shrugged.

"But goats are another thing entirely," James laughed. "Clearly you were a precocious boy and meant for great things." He stood and clapped a large hand on Giles' shoulder for a moment. "I'll leave you two to it, then, and get on with errands. Be back by lunch - don't forget your ten o'clock pill,' he gave Joseph a stern look which the abbot waved off before turning his attention back to Giles.

In the sudden stillness the two of them regarded one another more thoroughly. Giles heard the effort behind Joseph's breathing, and noted how the once sturdy flesh had dwindled into a loose cover over the big bones. Yet the old man's face was untroubled and his eyes were framed by lines of laughter. Giles was coming to recognize their deep calm as a hard earned reward of this austere life. The abbot gave Giles' hand a final squeeze then let it go, still looking into his guest's green eyes.

"Yes, you are the right person for this task," the abbot said quietly. Then, a few moments later, "And I think it might ease your way a bit."

Giles' brows twitched and he leaned back in the chair as his defenses snapped into place. Joseph looked away and busied himself sorting and stacking the books on his bed. They made a formidable pile. Giles noted the titles: a spy novel, a gardening dictionary, two volumes of Franciscan meditations, a collected Blake, and a hymnal. He smiled in spite of himself. The pile by his bed at home was just as diverse, if a bit more martial.

"You may not know it," the abbot began, "but this abbey owes a great deal to your mother's family. The eastern half of the property came to us from them in the mid-nineteenth century as a bequest. It's a fertile piece of ground, and raised many fine animals for us. The cottage you and your uncle stayed in came with it. About fifteen years ago we renovated it because there was such a good trade in letting it out to folks who wanted to fish and hunt up here. The income made a big difference for us when we had to reduce our dairying." He paused and sipped the last of his breakfast tea.

"Would you mind terribly setting up in it during your stay? We just aren't able to be proper hosts here at the house anymore."

"Certainly," Giles answered. "The Council will pay your going rate, of course."

"No, no, that's not a concern," the abbot shifted his hands a bit on the covers. "That's all rather moot now." He paused for some time and Giles waited. "Besides, it seems right that you should enjoy it a while before it goes onto the market and some outsider buys it. The abbey records have your people on that piece of ground as of 1370, when it was described in a will. That probably means they had held it for some while before that. Do you know any of that history?"

"Uh, no, actually, my mother never said much about it. Neither did Roderick, though he did love the place."

"He was here every year at least once. A good man, and surely a legend among our trout."

"I don't even know why they left here." Giles said, rifling through his memory for any stray bits of information.

"There was some kind of a tiff in your grandfather's generation. Then he married money, and his wife's family had land in the Mendip valley so they went south and his cousins stayed up here. Over time the original holdings have been broken up by inheritance, and I don't think you've got anyone closer than second or third cousins still around. It was never a very prolific lineage, but it did manage to stay unbroken on that land until then."

"Rather remarkable, given the time span," Giles said.

"Well, they were sturdy stock," Joseph replied. He looked up at Giles. "You get your eyes from that side. Maybe one or two other things, too."

"How so?"

"Let's just say there were some members of that family that were a bit gifted. Not the common run of folk." He did not seem inclined to expand the point.

"I see." Giles digested this. "Well, it will be interesting to see the old place then, get to know it a bit." Joseph smiled.

"Yes, I expect it will." There was a short silence.

"How can I help you here with the archival material and the, um, other issue?" Giles asked.

"James and I have discussed it. He has sorted the holdings into two groups: one for the Council, and one for the church archives. The first pile has the personal diaries, the volumes describing the creatures and events associated with the gate, and some miscellaneous things that might raise theological eyebrows. The second pile is the more usual collection of records associated with the local parish activities, like wills, birth and marriage records, some land transactions, and so forth. There are some items in there that James finds problematic because they need to be in the set of local historical materials, but they also relate to the supernatural events. He was hoping you'd have time to review these and perhaps make copies of the relevant information so it can be included in the Council collection without leaving an unexplained hole in the mundane chronology."

"But won't those items attract attention themselves?"

"Probably not. Most of them are in notations that only make snse if you've seen the diaries and the other records of the gate. We're hoping that whoever pokes through the stuff in the future isn't sufficiently versed in those matters to notice. Usually the folks looking are doing genealogy, and are pretty specific in what they want -- dates and demographics and so forth. James was also hoping you'd be able to do a bit of conservation on some of the more vulnerable things. They won't get much of that where they're going and it seems a terrible waste to let them go if they can be stabilized."

"That'll be easy enough. I'll send a note down to the Council library and they'll ship up some supplies. Are the problems acidic inks and papers or insects?"

"A bit of both. The nineteenth and early twentieth century paper is terribly brittle; the older stuff is terrific, though, you could use it for roofing. Anything earlier than that is vellum, and aging pretty well. There's a bit of vermin damage in the leather-bound books, and something James called 'red rot'."

"All very easy to address. I'll do that. How much material are we talking about here?"

"Three or four large boxes of historical records, a quite a bit more of the gate-related material."

"I'll focus on the historical things, then, since the Council library has excellent resources to deal with the other stuff once it arrives."

"James has also sorted out several items for you to read and keep. They deal with Herself, and since you are going to be her companion for a time, it's fitting that you be the custodian of these books, too."

"Once she is settled in her new home, do I send these to the Council?"

"Absolutely not," Joseph said with unexpected vehemence. He started to say more then stopped himself, cleared his throat, and continued in a more moderate tone. "We do not want them to encumber her with their particular brand of supervision."

"I see." Giles absorbed this. "I take it they have tried before?"

"Oh yes, they certainly have," Joseph replied, shaking his head angrily. "Please understand that I respect their work and their mission," the abbot continued, "and I apologize if I am putting you in a difficult position in saying this."

"You are not," Giles answered quietly. "Let's just say that I'm not a model student, and that I, um, kick against the goad. Often."

"Roderick wrote to me when you were called. He was heartsick about it. He had so hoped to bring you up here in a more permanent capacity, perhaps open a pub or something. He felt you belonged here, and your mother did, too."

"Really?" Giles was utterly astonished. He had been so distraught at being snatched from home and stuffed into the Council school that he barely remembered what had passed between his parents at the time. His mother cried a good deal, he remembered that. And his father had told him that Roderick was too busy that following summer so there wouldn't be the trip back north that his uncle had promised him.

"He kept me apprised of your circumstances as well as he could without actually being able to see you. I think your mother confided a great deal in him, particularly when you ran away to Campden, and again during your early years at university."

Giles stiffened and studied his boots. He made a point to steady his breathing.

"Those were difficult years for her. She deserved a better son." Giles said hoarsely.

"Neither she nor Roderick ever lost faith in you, Rupert."

"They didn't know what I did, either, what I was capable of." His eyes were stinging now. He was sickened and ashamed to have this gentle man know any part of his past.

"You would be surprised what they knew. Both of them had, shall we say, some of the family gift, and they had ways to follow your, um, activities. Not much else, perhaps, but they did know more than you realize." He saw that Giles was trembling. "They never stopped loving you. When the crisis came your mother was already quite ill, but Roderick was able to help indirectly."

Giles looked up sharply, the tears now standing in his eyes.

"Which crisis was that?" he croaked.

"Randall."

Giles surged to his feet and spun away, crossing the small room in a single stride and coming up short against the window. His breathing was ragged and nausea threatened to overwhelm him. He clenched and unclenched his fists, tried to fight the constriction in his chest, but the tears ran anyway. Joseph was very quiet behind him.

"I didn't know they knew," he whispered after several minutes. "I thought we had hidden it well enough."

"That was where Roderick could help. Never underestimate the value of having an uncle at Scotland Yard, Rupert. He deflected some things for you. Rod knew you acted in self-defense - well, defense of considerably more than just yourself, ultimately. He had no illusions about what you and your cronies were about, and wasn't surprised when it got entirely out of your control."

"Completely. Utterly. God, we were such fools," Giles said. He fumbled out his handkerchief and wiped his eyes and glasses, blew his nose. For several minutes he stood with his hands buried in his pockets, looking out at the sunlit farmyard.

"Rod knew you had come around after that. He intended to brave your father's wrath and try to reach out to you," Joseph said. "But he never had the opportunity before-"

"Before he was blown to smithereens by that damn IRA bomber," Giles hissed.

"There's more than enough evil in the world to go 'round. We all have to do what we can, where we can."

"I suppose you could put it that way." Giles turned slowly from the window and sat down again in the chair by Joseph's bed. His knees were shaky and he still wasn't certain his breakfast was going to stay put.

"Well, you and I do, at any rate. And that's precisely my problem with the Council," Joseph said. "In recent generations they have come to believe that they are the only ones worthy to wage this battle, and that they should direct the efforts of all others, even if they do not know the local situation. It is foolish, arrogant, bigoted, and shortsighted. Their machinations have more than once weakened and divided allies just when they needed to be strong and united."

"They are pretty hidebound," Giles answered.

"Try fossilized. Totally inflexible," Joseph sighed. "They are so set in their ways that they cannot adapt anymore, and a quick look 'round will show you how skilled our opponents are at exploiting all the new opportunities we offer them."

"How so?"

"Well, James and I are thinking this gate has drifted shut because it is so seldom used - it's really does open into the back end of nowhere, at least as far as demonic priorities go. We think they are far more attracted to the possibilities of the cities, especially those that have suffered economically. Poverty and despair are so attractive to them. Easy to exploit, and good camouflage for their activities. We think that's where the next major battles will be fought. But the Council hasn't quite digested the Industrial Revolution yet. They aren't ready, and they will not acknowledge the problem."

"So where does 'Herself' fit into this, then?" Giles asked.

"That's a thing we don't really know. We're hoping that you can find out what she wants and needs and help her accordingly. All she's told us is that she needs to go west across the water. We're not sure how to do that, so we need some creative solutions."

"But how would I find that out?"

"Spend time with her. Watch, listen. Dream."

Giles shifted in his chair.

"Dream?" he asked.

"She does appear in dreams sometimes. I think you'll find it helpful to read the diaries. She's visited all three of us that way, too."

"All four of us."

"I thought so. We heard you in the wee hours this morning."

"It was a rather disturbing thing," Giles replied, taking off his glasses and rubbing his eyes. "Quite painful, actually. Frightening."

"I'm sorry. I'm also not surprised," the old man shifted stiffly in the bed. "You can trust her. Please believe me, believe us, when we tell you that she is means you no harm, although you may find yourself faced with some taxing spiritual work."

"Bloody marvelous," he mumbled.

"Well, it is, actually. Costly, but worth it," the smiled slightly. "If it gets too hard, or too baffling, come talk to me about it. Really." Giles met his eyes.

"Right. Whatever."

"Look, there's no hurry. Get yourself settled in at the cottage, grab some things to work on, and make yourself comfortable. James has already stocked you up with coal and paraffin. There's linens and so forth in the cupboard by the bathroom. There's a good grocer down in the village and Thursday is market day. I recommend the lunch at the White Boar, and the local stout. You can send laundry to the B & B next to the pub, and the staff there does a weekly cleaning for you. Let's see, did I miss anything?"

Giles sat looking at his hands. Joseph noticed that he was pressing them together so hard that the muscles in his forearms flexed. The abbot waited patiently.

"Have you ever wondered," Giles finally said softly, "I mean, um, do you, personally, think it's possible to actually die if you, ah, die in a dream?" He did not look up. Joseph studied his guest, gathered what it had cost him to ask this.

"Rupert," he replied gently, "there isn't a single answer to that. But since you ask me, personally, I will tell you what I believe." He paused for a moment. "And I will say that I believe this because of what I've seen and experienced here for the past fifty-three years. Yes, you can die in this world if die in a certain kind of dream."

Rupert looked sharply up at him, his eyes bright.

"My creed teaches that we are a spirit, we have a soul, and we live in a body." Joseph drew himself up in the bed so he could lean closer to Giles. "The spirit is the you part, the unique combination of mind and temperament and feeling that you and others recognize as yourself. And that spirit has a unique soul, an eternal aspect that we must respect and nourish as it in turn nourishes the spirit. Both of these are housed, for now, in a body, yes?"

Giles nodded, studying his hands again.

"What I have seen is that the tethers that bind these three together are unequal in strength and variable over time. I think the bond between the spirit and the soul is the strongest and very hard to break. The bond between those two and the body is much weaker and can be broken by irreversibly damaging the body. I also think it can be broken by severely damaging the spirit." He laid his brittle hand over Giles' hands. "There are dreams that can do that. They are, thank God, very rare. But they do happen."

"Would one, you know, recognize such a dream while one is in it?" Giles asked. Joseph sat silent for a few moments.

"Sometimes. But not always." He squeezed Giles' hands, then released them. "And I'm not sure it would make a difference if you did. Dreams don't lend themselves to that kind of objective evaluation while they are in progress."

"So how can you save yourself?"

"The way you always do: by being there, by being true to who you are, by going on as far as you can, as long as you can, in the face of great fear. Courage, Rupert. I think it is one's native courage that makes the difference."

"As in conquering the fear and not running away?"

"Courage isn't about conquering fear. It isn't really about being 'brave' at all," he paused and chuckled softly. "Just think how often we can't tell the difference between someone being brave and someone being stupid."

"So what is it about then?"

"Courage is about taking what you are given, choosing what you can and should do, and doing it. Often against great odds. It's more about acceptance than about conquering."

"I'm still not sure I understand."

"Courage acknowledges the fear, and the doubt, and the weakness, and then acts anyway. True courage is rare, and very hard work."

"So you either have it or you don't?"

"You grow it, Rupert. You go inside yourself and find the seeds, as it were, and you grow your own. That's hard work, too. The Zen masters call it 'mindfulness'."

"I guess I need to read more Zen masters."

"Don't start with a book. Start with yourself. Take inventory there first. If you feel like talking about what you find, then I'll point you at a couple of books." They sat in silence for a while. Then Giles rose and went back to the window. Bees were shopping in the hollyhocks below the sill. Several doves dozed at a feeding tray among the roses. He sighed and shook himself.

"Thanks."

"Just doing my job. Anything else?"

"On a very different subject, yes. Does anyone around here hire out horses for hacking?" Giles asked turning away from the sunlit garden.

"Well, not that I've heard of, but Samuel Saxford, whose neighbor you will be while you're here, breeds some really fine horses. He might have something for you. I'll have Amos ring over and find out. I gather you don't want to borrow fishing tackle?"

"Your trout are quite safe from me, thanks just the same."

"That's it then. Whenever you're over, and I'm up to it, I'd like to hear how it's going."

"Right," Giles stood and slide the chair back against the wall. "Do you need anything just now?"

"Could you pass me that red book on the end of the shelf there? Thanks."

"Dylan Thomas?"

"Not going gentle into that good night, and so forth," he smiled warmly.

"Thank you for everything." And Giles left.

* * *