The first time the new world order impacted my life was nearly three months after the Black Sun, about mid-May. Up until then, it had been a concern, but it had been something that I’d seen on screens and read about in the paper, even when it happened in my own country. The return of the King, the wars in Africa, the mess in Australia, and the sensations cropping up in America, all of it seemed so distant.
It happened at work, and the brutal reality of it took me by surprise.
“Morning, Di.”
I waved at my boss as I came in, catching her smile before heading upstairs to the staffroom. Di was the kind of boss that most people would be happy to work under. She took pride in her job, and that showed in her business. ‘Well Grounded’ was a nice place for staff and customers, and Di and the rest of her staff had worked hard to make it something of a fixture in my town. Getting a job there after my original plans had fallen through had been something of a break for me. Sure, it didn’t pay as much as I could have liked, but I enjoyed it, it covered my expenses and left me with some money to spend and a little to save, so I couldn’t complain.
It only took me a few minutes to put on the apron and get ready for work. I joined Di behind the till as she was dealing with her next customer. Neil, the guy I was taking over from, said hello, then went off to check out. Everything was as normal as it had ever been.
I took a moment to enjoy the welcoming smell of the shop, a now-familiar mixture of ground coffee, hot tea, fresh cakes, and pastries. I was also becoming familiar with the coffee recipes, enough so that I could now prepare the more popular ones up to Di’s standards.
For the most part, I just worked the tills, taking people’s money and handing over the orders. Occasionally I worked the tables, taking the orders to those that chose to stay here for a bit, rather than those who ordered their drinks to go.
However, things were different that day. There was a tightness in the air that I couldn’t put my finger on.
The first thing that caught my attention was the way that the customers seemed to be divided into two distinct groups, each clustering in different parts of the cafe.
One group was by the windows and had a very nationalistic theme going, shirts with a Union Jack pattern on them, a T-shirt with the name ‘Albion’ inscribed upon it in loud and elaborate letters, a bag with the words ‘The One True King’ clearly displayed upon it. There were about nine of them, mainly young men, though there was one older guy and a couple of young women there as well. They had a certain . . . tension to them. Nothing violent or threatening, just on edge. They were all sitting around a few tables that they’d pushed together and were discussing something in lowered voices.
The other group had set themselves up at the back, away from the windows and next to some bookshelves. Like the other group they were made up of mostly young people, however, there were three older people with them, a man and two women, each of whom must have been in their sixties at least. There were about a dozen of them, but they were less strident than those by the window. They dressed in earth colours, green, brown, and black, and spoke in an almost hushed manner to each other.
Either group would have been eye-catching on their own. Seeing them at the same time emphasized the differences between them. What was even more noteworthy, and a bit concerning, was that they each kept on throwing guarded looks at the other. Each of them seemed to be very aware of the other gathering, and the sense of tension was growing in the air.
One from the group near the bookshelf got up and came over to the counter to pick up their order. There were three trays with steaming cups, some slices of cake, and other snacks waiting for them. Since the rest of the shop was quiet at the time and Di had the other till I offered to help him carry one of the trays. That still left one on the counter, but we could come back for it.
We never did.
As we were passing the stairs one of the members of the nationalistic group was coming down. He reached the bottom of the stairs just as we were going past. They both froze, and I could practically see the tension between them.
“Alan.”
The name was spoken by the guy carrying a tray with me. It was spoken as a statement, but there was more than a hint of a question to it. Alan made no reply though and just turned to go back to his group.
“Hey, Alan! Look, we’ve got to-”
The guy with the tray tried to step closer to the other as he spoke, but whatever he was trying to say was cut off as Alan forcefully pushed past him. Forcefully enough to knock the tray from his hands and send snacks and plates tumbling. The sound of breaking crockery drew eyes from both groups, and in an instant, the tension that had already been thick in the air grew to almost stifling levels.
“Don, are you okay?”
The question came from the back of the store, but as soon as the query was made someone from the nationalistic group called out their response.
“He’s fine; he just made another bad decision!”
It was almost a catcall, the sort of thing that hecklers shout at a football match, but I was unprepared for the looks of sullen anger that it drew from the gathering at the back of the store. Don suddenly stepped forward and grabbed Alan by the arm.
“HEY! Not cool, man! Are you going to-”
Once again, he was cut off as the other man jerked his hand away. Alan opened his mouth to say something else, but never got a chance as Don thrust out with his right palm, pushing the other man back a couple of steps.
“Back off, Don! I’ve got nothing to say to you!”
“No!” Don caught the wrist of the arm before it could be pulled away, standing his ground and not letting go. “You don’t get to just walk like that! If you’ve got a problem, then just say it!”
It was at about that point that I realized how serious things were getting. People from both groups were sort of half rising from their seats, and they were glaring at each other just as much as they were at the two men causing the scene. There was a distinctly ugly tinge to the tension, and I wasn’t sure what to do. Behind me, I could hear Di moving around, but I didn’t turn to see what she was doing.
“I’ve got nothing to say! Back off!”
“No! We’ve been friends for years! You don’t just dump that without explaining yourself!”
Don wasn’t budging, even though Alan was trying to pull his arm free, and it was easy to hear genuine hurt in his words.
“And you don’t get to betray England and keep calling yourself my friend!”
There was no longer any ‘halfway out of their seats’. Both of the groups were standing, and what few customers were not a part of either group were beginning to look decidedly uncomfortable.
“Hey! I’m no traitor!”
Don had let go of the arm he’d been holding since it didn’t look like Alan was going to try to leave anymore.
“Then why’re you trying to bring in gods behind the King’s back?! Why’re you trying to backstab him?!”
“I’m not trying to undermine the King! I’m just trying to-”
“To what?” Alan cut him off before he could continue. “You saw what Balor did! You know what other gods can do, and you’re trying to . . . what? Invite one in? How’s that not treason!”
Again, there was that hurt look on Don’s face, as though he was sad that his one-time friend didn’t understand. Then it was gone, and an expression of irritation and defensiveness took its place.
“The goddess isn’t a god of war or violence, she’s all about house and home, of keeping your place safe and making sure it’s a good place to live!”
“They’ve got no place here! We don’t need them!”
With each statement Alan snapped his arms out, pushing the other man. The pushes weren’t overly violent, not enough to knock him off his feet or hurt him, but they were strong enough to send him stumbling back a step each time. I could see that Don was getting angry, but he was doing a good job of holding it back. As the other young man went for his third push Don’s hands came up and pushed him away first.
“Oh yeah? Then what about the Morrigan? It´s alright if your King says it’s fine, right? It doesn’t matter that she’s literally a goddess of war and doom, as long as the King says it’s alright?!”
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“Hey!”
Someone from Alan’s group had left their table and was close enough to catch him from behind to keep him from stumbling any further back. This new guy was older and had a T-shirt with a bright Union Jack pattern on it. Others were coming out from behind the table but hadn’t left it yet. The same was true of the other group.
“The King has made his choices, if he says that the Morrigan is fine, then I’m fine with her being here!”
“But not with Vesta or Brigid? Do you think that they’re going to go on a mad rampage?”
This was asked by one of the young women from Don’s side, her words almost dripping with contempt as she glared at the group across from her.
“What? So, they can tell us what to do in our own homes? So, they can get us to worship them instead of . . .”
The man that had spoken trailed off, perhaps unsure as to who he should be offering his faith to.
The King was something of a divisive figure, given that he was himself a firm follower of the Abrahamic faith, giving all honours to God and His angels. However, he also had ties and alliances with Celtic gods and other divine spirits. On the other hand, he was himself a figure of worship, with several cults and churches doing everything from seeing him as a living saint to worshipping him with fanatical determination as a god in his own right. By the looks of things this group held him in high regard but were a bit unclear as to their veneration. A detail the young woman had no trouble pouncing upon.
“Instead of who? Has your precious King outlawed the worship of any deities yet? Are you even speaking on his behalf or are you just using his name to say what you want?!”
“Yeah!” Another member of Don’s group declared, who looked to be the youngest of them. “And don’t talk shit about the goddesses, they’re kind and they are gentle. If your King’s got a brain in his head, then he’ll be happy to have them in his country!”
The words were spoken with passion, unfortunately passion wasn’t intelligence. The situation was tense enough, but the implied insult made the entire group from the window stand up, eyes growing hard as they sized up the other group.
“Don’t talk about the King like that, boy,” One of the older men said, his hands clenching and relaxing in a repeating gesture. “We don’t need gods to improve farming, we don’t need them to protect us, we don’t need them at all. So, they should stay out!”
“And we don’t need a warmonger!”
And that was it.
I didn’t see who threw the first punch, but it didn’t matter. It was as though I looked away for a second, and then when I looked back the two groups were embroiled in a fight. At that point, it hadn’t turned vicious yet, more a case of pushing and shoving than of actual blows, and was limited to the few that were getting into it just a few feet from where I stood.
I . . . I think I just stood there for the first few moments, stunned by how fast things had gone south.
“Bastard!”
In the end, it was a simple shouted insult that brought me out of my shock. Unsure of what to do I just put the tray I was still carrying down on an empty table, then turned to see what Di was doing. I saw her on the phone and, given the serious look on her face, I guessed that she must have been calling the police.
“Bloody traitor!”
The shout, and the cry of pain that followed it, brought my attention back to the brawl I was in the middle of. Someone from the King’s group had a member of the Goddess group pressed against a table and was driving his knee into the man’s stomach. The beleaguered man had both his hands down trying to block the assault, but it was obvious that he was getting overwhelmed. What struck me was their expressions, the snarl of sheer anger on the attacker and the panicked desperation and fear of the other. Both of them were visceral in a way that I’d never seen before. This was something that even the most talented of actors could never hope to be able to really capture.
“Hey! HEY! Break it up! None of that here!”
Without thinking I tried to shove myself in between them, trying to use my body to force them apart.
“What’re you doing?!”
The larger man spat at me while trying to shove me aside. It was a good thing that he was more focused on the other guy than me because if he hadn’t been, I doubt there’d have been much I could have done. I was taller by a couple of inches, but this guy looked like someone that saw a lot of physical activity. I could feel his strength as he pushed at me with one hand. Had he really been trying, there was no way that I could have stayed in place. Fortunately, his focus was on the other man, which meant I was able to get them apart without being knocked aside.
Unfortunately, the other guy didn’t have tunnel vision.
I didn’t see what happened next, since my attention was on the guy from the King’s group, but I can guess. The young man from the goddess group must have used me as a distraction to let him to grab one of the chairs next to the table he’d been pressed up against. What I do know is that one moment I was trying to hold back the guy in front of me, and the next a chair hit me in the side and threw both me and the other guy to the wooden floor.
Let me tell you something. Being hit by a chair hurts! A chair, or at least one of the sturdy wooden ones used at the Well Grounded, can be quite heavy. The impact didn’t break anything, but that was about the only good thing I can say about it. Whoever my attacker was he must have been plenty strong, because not only did he manage to knock both of us off our feet, but he also managed to hurt my left arm.
If that had been all, then it wouldn’t have been so bad, but as I tried to get up again someone’s leg hit me on the side of the head. I suppose that I was lucky it was just a glancing blow and that it was the shin rather than the foot that hit me. Still, it was enough for everything around me to turn into a blur of motion and sound, of breaking ceramics and wood, of shouts and curses, of stamping feet and flying fists. I could make out scraps of shouted exchanges, but they were incomplete, barely understandable.
“. . . Sell out to some-”
“Don’t you think I’ll-”
“. . . you bastard!”
“. . . Trusted! Can’t be trusted!”
“-King can help-”
On and on it went, nothing but sound and motion as I tried to gather my thoughts enough to do anything. Then, suddenly, I was being helped to my feet and the cacophony of noises was gone.
“Hey! Hey, are you okay?”
My head was pounding, I could taste a little blood in my mouth, and my eyes were watering with pain, but I was able to focus on the one that spoke to me. It was . . . a policeman? The sight of the uniform seemed to be oddly jarring at the time, as though I couldn’t quite understand why I would be seeing them.
“Here, sit down.”
The next thing I knew I was being placed on a chair and a glass of water had been put in my hands. The gesture was nice, but at the time I couldn’t have drunk it if someone had offered me a free Ferrari for doing so. Instead, I just sat there, alternating between watching the world slowly swim back into focus, and having my eyes closed and trying to lessen the pounding in my skull. I’m not too sure how long I sat there, but in what seemed like only a couple of minutes there was a woman in a green uniform shining one of those little pen lights into my eyes. It was bright enough to hurt, but it also seemed to help me get my thoughts back in order, and I was soon blinking up at her with far more awareness than I’d possessed before.
“Alright, you’ve taken a nasty hit to the head, but I don’t think you’ve got concussion. Just stay here for a bit, there’re others I’ve got to see.” She turned away from me and waved to someone behind me. “Yes, those should help him. Go ahead.”
I turned slowly, feeling as though my head was on a spring rather than my neck, like one of those bobble dolls you see in cars, and saw that Di was standing there. She was holding something in her hands. It took me a moment to realize what it was. A bag of frozen raspberries? I know that Di used them as part of a recipe to make a sort of jam that was pretty popular, but I couldn’t understand why was she holding it as she stood there.
“Here Adam, I think you need these.”
The next moment she was pressing the packet of frozen berries to my head . . . and it was wonderful!
I swear, I could feel my head clearing as the soothing cold ran its way through a skull that I hadn’t realized was feeling hot. Instead of the dull pounding that had been making it so hard to think, a heaviness settled upon my mind. I was growing more coherent by the second, but it was as though those thoughts were heavier, more sluggish.
But they were thoughts that worked, and that was the important thing.
I looked around the coffee house, and what I saw shocked me. The same ambulance person that had taken a look at me was now crouched over a guy that was spread-eagled on the floor. He was wearing one of those T-Shirts that I had seen earlier, though now there was no way to read the slogan, so I guessed he’d been from the group by the window. He was lying on his side, and there was more than a little blood around him. I could see his shoulders going up and down, so I knew he was still breathing, but his face, what I could see of it, was shockingly pale, and I was fairly certain that the flashes of white amid the red on his arm were exposed bone.
He wasn’t the only one that was down, though he was unquestionably the worst hurt. A girl sat in a chair, her leg propped up on another chair, the ankle visibly swollen. Elsewhere another guy, was holding a wadded tea towel to a shoulder stained with blood. Bits of broken glasses, bowls and plates were all over the floor, as were the broken remains of several chairs and at least one table. A picture frame on the wall was tilted at a sharp angle, the image of a tranquil summer scene beneath it obscured by a crack that ran across it.
It seemed wrong, all of it. That was the place where I worked, where I chatted with customers and co-workers, where I took the money and served snacks. It was a place where I’d enjoyed some funny stories, and where I’d been bored when things were quiet. This, seeing it broken like this, seeing it stained by violence, seeing people hurt in my place of work, it all felt wrong, discordant, as though the pieces of the world didn’t fit together as they should.
“Damn it, it’s even happening here.”
Di muttered the words, but I still caught them, and my reaction must have been clear enough for her to catch it because she turned to look at me.
“It’s happening more and more, people picking sides, then acting like everyone not on their side is an enemy. You know, it’s kind of stupid, how it’s all going on. The . . . Legends, the ones that are gods, most of them don’t even bother with what their worshipers are doing. They’re more interested in what they can do themselves.”
She waved an arm, as though to take in the whole world.
“Some of them have gone into the jungle and are living as though the rest of the world doesn’t matter unless it bothers them. We’ve got Apollo in Hollywood becoming the next big thing, we’ve got angels flying around, and you know what? Almost none of them are actually telling anyone to do anything! Oh yeah, I know that some are carving out their little kingdoms, or setting themselves up as warlords, but that’s all . . . far off.”
Again, her hands waved, trying to describe with gestures what she was having trouble explaining in words.
“But here, or in Europe or America, most of them are just . . . doing their own thing. Not trying to drag anyone else into it. Yeah, some of them are claiming land and forests, but others are making up for it, and . . . none of them are trying to draw people in, y’know?
“All those cults you hear about? Half the stuff you see on the news? It’s all just . . . people. People following them, people trying to be loyal, or faithful, or just suck-ups!”
Her arms fell to her sides, and she looked . . . tired. Di was almost twice my age, barely into her forties, but at the moment she looked older than that, as though life had somehow worn her down.
“With the King getting here I didn’t know what was going to happen, but I was hoping it would be better. But no, people are still people.”
I think that was when it first hit me. The return of the Legends . . . it wasn’t just something that was happening somewhere far away, it wasn’t something that wouldn’t have any impact on me.
That was the first time they intruded into my life, and things only grew more turbulent from there on.