Updated – August 25, 1998
Fate or Free Will
Prologue
October 28, 1997 - San Francisco
an Francisco has always been a waypoint. Since its founding, this place has been where colonists, explorers, missionaries and pilgrims have journeyed to and left. They set off to discover, to seek, and to conquer. Many people see it as a gateway to the New World and opportunities. Still others have seen the opportunities here. So San Francisco came to be, a home to weary travelers, a haven, and a focal point for mystery and magick (True Magick, to those that live uninformed and trapped in their own little worlds.).
Various races and kinds sit stoically, perched above the city, watching each other, while other lie embedded, firmly entrenched and waiting. Among the most noted of the territories within San Francisco is Chinatown. To most this is where Chinese immigrants recreated a small fragment of China to preserve their culture and their community. That is not all. Chinese families are not the only ones who have lain roots in this community.
Creatures and beings, some I don’t even know of, have lain roots here as well, just as they have done in countless other cities and countries for millennia. Still, these beings, living in the darkness and cracks of society and in the alleyways that always lie ahead, are not why I bring your attention to this place. Instead, I ask you to peer through the fog rolling over the bay and through the twisting streets, and past the rising hills.
Of course, as you can imagine, we head towards Chinatown. We are not here to stop and listen to the words and thoughts of those people who live here. Nor are we here to taste and smell the delicacies and recipes brought from Mainland China. Instead I send you down a series of twisting and turning streets and alleys. The smells are not as pleasant here as on those streets with rows of markets and restaurants. The sounds of laughter from the procession of the nightlife are silenced this far back into Chinatown. In fact, it is eerily quiet, especially for a metropolitan area like San Francisco. Still, as we continue on we quickly reach a dimly lit dead end. This is not just some dark alleyway though and as the fog rolls over this area, the moon and stars become nonexistent. What lies around you becomes more and more uncertain. Save for the sparse flickering street lamps and a few old gas lamps above some of the doorframes, no light is present to aid pedestrians.
Still from the meager light available, the reason for the dead end becomes quite clear. The path, that we’ve so diligently been following, has literally reached a dead end. The construction on the street before you ends, perpendicular to a sidewalk, all broken and worn. The sidewalk’s three sides almost seem to trap and hold the city street at bay. At the end of the road a sign sets. It is a large wooden sign with the words, “DEAD END UNDER CONSTRUCTION” stenciled in large black letters upon it. From the wear, aging, and fading of the lettering one would have to imagine that it had been placed there years, if not decades ago.
Beyond the worn sign and beyond the worn sidewalk lies a storefront. It is much the same as those that lie to the other two sides of the street, but at this location we find a small café, Lu’s. Lu’s Café is nuzzled quite securely into this small back street of Chinatown. The cafe is as small and shabby as you’d expect for any small business hidden off the beaten track on a street off the beaten track. The dingy opaque windows of the storefront and the signs, exclusively in the Wu dialect of Chinese, help guarantee anonymity. Tourists and the vast majority of denizens of San Francisco would simply take it for just another run down piece of real estate in an area full of firetraps, if they even reached this place. Of course, they would be right. Lu’s Café is nothing more than a simple run down café. This is the way Tan Lu likes it and this is the way he keeps it.
Likewise, this is the way his patrons like it as well. All being old men seeking refuge for a small time in their twilight years, no one is in a rush to have young gweilo or noisy tourist intrude on their domain. For that matter, the rest of the world could disappear for all they care. The air and atmosphere of the small three-room café seemed to have been canned in 19th century China. This is a place of old and it and its patrons are determined to keep it this way. Truly though, not all of the patrons of Lu’s are elders from a different age, especially not tonight.
At 8:35 on the night of October 15, 1997 the old squeaky door at the front of the café opened. A man entered. Unlike the number of elderly Asian men sitting and talking inside, he was not elderly or Asian. From his stance he seemed a serious and cautious man. The patrons watched him for a moment and slowly returned to their own lives, recognizing him. Upon fully entering the café he scanned the crowd, searching for newcomers or unusual activity. Seeing that everything was as always, the man moved through the smoke filled room towards the table Lu was inhabited. As he did this he placed his hand in his black overcoat pocket and removed a pocket watch, to check the time. Stepping up to the table, Lu and he made eye contact. His blue eyes peered at Lu and silently Lu nodded to him and bid the man to join him. As he sat down, the man placed his hands through light brown hair and remained silent. Lu slowly rose and his bent figure moved towards the back room.
After Lu leaves, the man sat back in his chair. He was still young, thirty-five, but his blue eyes betrayed weariness and a lifetime of experiences already experienced. He slowly rubbed his unshaven chin and repositioned himself in his chair. He closed his eyes and relaxed for a moment listening to his chair creak beneath and the conversations all about.
The man’s name was James Salan. While he could easily fade into the crowds of San Francisco, he was nothing like the mundane that filled the streets of the city. He belonged to a peculiar fellowship. Salan was a mage, a welder of True Magick, and a shaper of reality. Still from the grim state of his face, these abilities had not made his life or this day any easier.
To some he was known as Serene Falcon. He never cared for this name. When he had first “awakened” he was told this was the name he had used in many previous lives. It seemed to bring him a level of reverence in the eyes of many in the mage’s world he felt he never earned. It also meant they assumed he would fill out a certain profile and that he would be willing and able to do certain things. When he had become a mage he had no desire to be some tool for an agenda. He didn’t want to do so now either.
You see, most of his kind are constantly caught up in the state of reality. They have created sides and have battled to control what is and is not for many millennia. Some seek scientific domination, they are the Technocrats. Some seek a more mystic reality, they are the Traditions. Some seek the realization of their own dark wishes and those of their demon masters, they are the Nephandis. The Nephandis are people who sold their souls and lives away for power and greatness. The Nephandi are beyond redemption as far as James was concerned. Still, some mages seek mere chaos. This, to them, will usher in a return to the days of wonder, these are the Mauraders. No cost is unreasonable to them, even every life on earth, but what else do you expect from a group of fanatic lunatics. All those that are left are caught in the cracks and holes that lie between these vying powers.
For over fifteen hundred years now, the Technocrats have been the strongest and dominating force. They have ushered in our advancing ages, up into the current Information Age. Still, James had little contact with them, until now. Mostly he had witnessed and interacted with the power and desires of the Traditions...and the Nephandi, yes. Salan belonged to a Tradition called the Akashic Brotherhood. They are a contemplative group whose members are often mistaken as eastern mystics by most who meet them. They are far more then this. They are among the most ancient of the vying powers. Some meditate. Some fight. James Salan no longer knew in which circle he stood or if he should even care any longer.
A few minutes after leaving, Lu returned with a tray holding a pot and two fine bone china cups. He slowly moved to the table and placed the tray before Salan. He then sat himself down and started pouring out tea for himself and James. Then Lu began.
“James old boy. Glad you popped by,” Lu said. As he spoke English, the British dialect of his Hong Kong youth was conveyed brightly. If you were to close your eyes, odds are you would have thought you were talking someone born and raised in the British Isles.
“What is this now?” he continued, “Fourno it’s five nights now that you’ve been missing. What has had you so distracted that you would not come and visit your old friend? I hope that last series of earthquakes didn’t scare.” Lu smirked at his old friend as he finished pouring the tea.
Salan’s face continued to betray no facts. He merely looked away into his cooling cup of tea, avoiding Lu’s eyes at all costs.
After a few minutes of failed prying Lu gave up. James finally looked up at Lu, as he was about to leave. Quickly he reached out for Lu’s arm and said, “I suppose you should know. I am surprised you haven’t seen it all on the news.”
Lu sat down, saying, “You know I don’t read the local papers or watch television.” He shuffled his seat close to James to listen. Moving in, even closer, in a conspirator manner, he asked, “What has happen?” Then he waited.
Salan took on a grimmer look and looked to his elder friend. “They’re gone...” was how he started, “...every master, student, and servant. I don’t know if any are left. The temple is gone, they're gone.”
*****
October 26, 1997 - Weaver Residence – San Francisco
Norna Weaver shot up in her bed suddenly. Her short black hair was stuck to her cheek and forehead with sweat. Screaming loudly as she awoke, Norna exclaimed, “Stop! Don’t hurt them!”
She looked around her bedroom and tried to figure what had upset her. She slowly lied down again and tried to get it out of her mind. Whatever it was, it was a sad and painful tragedy.
*****
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