Tribes of the Pagani: Dominionist Conspiracy
an excerpt

Death shades the holy marriage
With a Chaotic scrawl
Of blood in the sacred forest
-- the Priestess falls.

See the sleeping eyes open
-- Pagani run.
The Old Gods seek blood again --
Follow the sun

The Path of Blood flows from
the Priestess.
Seek the many gods known as one
for they shall guide you best.

Dominion of the One God comes.
Ware the State.
He brings Armageddon to us all.
Too late to close the Gate.

The Beginning...

6pm Thursday, 1st May 2008: Clifford Gardens, Toowoomba, Australia

The rich smell of brewing coffee wafted across the mall and Bahiya paused. After way too many hours spent scanning microfiche in the library, she could do with a cappuccino. Fragments from articles about the Prophecy swirled through her mind, twitching at her nerves.

At times she cursed her position as Clan Seer. Somehow it always came down to the unglamous and downright filthy task of shuffling through mountains of parchment and the inevitable ton of clay tablets.

She rubbed her eyes – scratchy and sore from studying cuniform and in all likelihood reddened and half-closed – and shuddered at the gritty feeling. Too much dust in the library. It coated her skin leaching out the rich olive tones. Combined with the stiffness in her shoulders and she felt less than glorious. Great way to begin a date-night

She snorted. The way she felt right now a bath, a glass of liqueur mead, and bed appealed much more than dinner and a movie with her husbands.

And The Coffee Club was right there, waiting for her. Comfy chairs, good coffee…maybe even a pastry of some chocolaty sort…

The twinge in her temple decided matters. Caffeine would perk her up and help ward off the looming headache. Maybe even leave her anticipating the evening once more. Rubbing at the knotted muscle, Bahiya waded through the Thursday evening crowd of shoppers and entered the coffee shop. The pastry case, glass clean and smudge-free, beckoned. One chocolate éclair left.

"What'll it be?" asked the guy behind the counter.

"Regular cap and the éclair."

He snagged the pastry before his partner could and the woman behind her in line sighed. "Damn, I wanted that!"

Bahiya shrugged, "Luck of the gods," and moved forward to pay.

"Donatiya, isn't it?"

At the sound of her Qadish name, she took a good look at her server. Well-built with pale skin and platinum hair pulled back with a leather thong, he stood out amongst the Toowoomba crowd. His Scandinavian-sounding accent did delightful things to her name. If asked, she'd have pegged him as a member of the Northern Trad Tribe. The Irminsul tattoo on his forearm pointed to Asatru Clan.

The ice-blue eyes, the high cheekbones…the sheer height and breadth of the man. There was something so primal about the Northerners. Bahiya noticed a second tattoo weaving across his neck and shoulders. The Canaanite sun and moon. She wondered at the oddity. Why would a Northerner bear Qadish tats? She studied his face a bit more closely and recognised him. He waited for her reply.

With a nod, she said, "Yeah. Although that's my Clan name. You can call me Bahiya. We met at last moon's service, right?"

"Right. Yngar. Look, I'm off in five. Would you mind if I picked your brains a bit?" With a self-depreciating gesture he elaborated, "I'm not Natib Qadish-born and I'm finding things a bit strange."

It fell into place. "Asatru-Clan fosterling! Yeah, sure I've got a few minutes to spare. But only a few." She signed the receipt. "I've got a date tonight. But I'm often in here so if you'd like we could meet up some time?"

"That'd be great. Take a seat and I'll bring out your order."

As Bahiya sank into an overstuffed chair the twinge in her neck intensified, spearing up into her skull. She moaned and pressed her palms to her eyes, trying to push away the intense pressure building up in her head. The clinking of her bangles was suddenly too loud. Hunched over she heard voices as people gathered around her. They faded away and Bahiya fell into darkness.

Light pierced the shadows and Donitaya saw a bonfire roaring, flames leaping against the star-laden night sky. Shadows circled it – people dancing. Drums kept a fast beat and she heard chanting. Off to one side, encircled by torches, stood a huge pole wrapped in ribbon and crowned with flowers. A May Pole?

Despite the warmth of the evening, Donitaya shivered, her skin prickling. The wind blowing over the grass bit into her and she wrapped her arms tight about her body. Her peasant skirt billowed, allowing chill fingers of air to gust about her thighs.

Someone laughed nearby. Donitaya turned and saw a petite woman, long hair tangled and wind-blown. She lay back in the arms of a slightly-built man, her face turned up to his. Brilliant red tinged the woman's aura, leaving her superimposed against a pool of blood.

Tipping out a libation from her goblet, she drained the rest before tossing the goblet aside. Her companion stood and gathered her up. With little effort, he carried her towards – and through – Donitaya.

Still somewhat confused at the vision, she turned and watched them. As they passed out of the firelight and into the forest, the man cast one look over his shoulder. At Donitaya. His eyes widened and she knew he'd Seen her. A wave of instinctive hatred washed over her leaving her nauseous.

She ducked behind a bush, hoping that his ability to See wasn't strong enough to track her. He scanned the area again and then shrugged. Apparently satisfied, he carried his partner into the trees.

Sweat beaded her face as she crept after them. Although she didn't know him, he was the Enemy. Entering the forest, she followed him, slipping from tree to tree and, staying always within the deepest shadow. After a few minutes of rapid travel he paused within a small clearing and lowered his giggling companion. Steadying herself with a slender hand on his shoulder, the woman pressed kisses against his face. The moonlight left everything in shades of grey, leaching all colour from the scene.

Except for her scarlet aura which glowed brighter and brighter.

Almost mechanically the man responded, kissing her back. He slid one hand under his jacket while running the other down her back. As she tugged her tee-shirt over her head he drew a knife and slashed her throat. Gurgling and thrashing against the confining material, she collapsed to her knees. Silver light exploded through the material over her face before she slumped forward.

Donitaya gasped and he spun around, knife raised. It glowed in her Sight and she heard a soft humming. She shrank back behind the tree and waited. Somwhere and owl hooted softly. At last she heard sounds from the clearing and peeked to see him dragging the body over to a large bramble patch. With a grunt he heaved the body into the brambles.

Blood stained the clearing, flowing in rivulets in amongst the surrounding trees. Swelling into streams and then rivers, the blood washed against Donitaya's legs, almost sweeping her off her feet.

"Miss. Miss." Someone shook Bahiya's shoulder and she moaned as her head rolled.

"She's coming 'round. Bahiya?"

She recognised Yngar's voice and pried open her eyes. Her stomach lurched in sympathy with her head and she struggled not to vomit as she squinted at him.

"You passed out. Is that normal? Do you need medications or something?" As she tried to focus on him, Yngar held up his hand. "How many fingers?"

She resisted the temptation to say eight as her vision doubled. Squeezing her eyes closed again, she said, "Four." They were blurry but at least she made them out. "It's a migraine. A bad one. I need caffeine and my Zomig."

Random scrabbling sounds ricocheted off her head as Yngar dug through her bag. The rattle of her prescription gave her hope and she breathed against the ache, willing it to subside somewhat and take the nausae with it. She heard him stirring something and then a glass of water knocked against her hand.

"It said 'water soluble' so drink up."

As the pain faded Bahiya opened her eyes to see Yngar perched on the opposite chair. Concern still filled his face but he smiled as she sat up and grabbed her cappuccino. She nodded at him and drained half the cup.

"Get them often?"

"The migraines?"

"No. The visions. That was what it was, right? My aunt gets them too. Not as bad as that for her. But I recognised the rolled eyes and the muttering."

"Often enough. It was bad. I need to call a meeting." She didn't know how much Yngar knew about the current state of affairs but secrecy had almost destroyed the Tribes in the past. "Something's coming. A time of war. We've been waiting for it for decades – ever since the Second Wave. And it's here."

Yngar straightened at her words. "The Prophecy?"

He knew.

The Prophecy -- the conclusion to almost two eons of strife. Soon, one way or the other, it would end. And how different to what they'd expected back when this all began.

The records showed how new-born Christianity walked the ancient Path beside Paganism for over two hundred years. Many converts retained their Pagani traditions as they celebrated their new faith.

And then, under Constantine the Traitor, the Church emerged and grew strong. Given form and power, she excised Pagani belief and initiated the Hunting. Her soldiers covered the world hunting out those who followed the Old Ways, torturing and killing any who did not submit and convert. Villages burned and Clans died out.

Tribe after Tribe vanished, slipping away into hiding. Facing the vast force of the Church the Tribes realized they could never prevail. The forces arrayed against them were too strong.

The longer they resisted, the more that died. Slaughtered on battlefields across the world, their dead soon outnumbered the living. And their own gods joined the mayhem as the Gods of War feasted in joy.

Therein lay the crux of their problem. Such beings cared not who won so long as the blood flowed. The Pagani were trapped between the Church and their own gods. Resistance against one pleased the other...and increased the death toll.

So they retreated into the mountains and forests, fading away in the night and cutting off all contact with the outer world. Over time, they became legends...mythical beings of magic. Their gods went with them -- the Gods of War screaming and fighting every inch of the way.

And when the enemy was out of sight, the Gods of War turned them against each other so brother slew sister.

But a number of the other gods came to the Pagani and promised to aid them. Together they cast a spell that banished the gods into sleep...all the gods. They locked the Sleepers away in hidden temples and prayed for the world to forget about the Pagani.

And indeed, the world did. But they did not forget the world. They observed. At times they sent out explorers. Not all came back, but those who did reported a world still ruled by the Church. A world hostile to the Pagani.

Then, in the eighteenth century, something changed. The world grew more accepting of difference and the Church's power began to weaken.

The Tribes tested this new acceptance, sending out the First Wave. The Druid Clans returned to Britain and Europe. They created a new faith as cover for the reality -- grounded in Druidry, it looked also to Free Masonry, Humanism, and Christianity. And the world accepted it.

For decades the Druids worked to develop this acceptance. They gradually, ever so gradually, moved further from the creation and closer to the roots of true Druidism. By the nineteenth century the Druid Tribe was an accepted part of the world and Celticism the new fad.

The Second Wave emerged over the next few decades as other Tribes reappeared. And then the Third Wave as the first new Tribe in thousands of years was born -- Wicca drew from the Old Faiths of prehistory, combined with traditional hedge witchery and folk medicine, and mixed in the Occult and various Eastern practices. People not born to the Tribes were being initiated into Wicca and becoming Pagani through fosterage.

The Church softened and grew less voluble. She became, while not friendly, at the least less violent. She preferred to wage war via economics and through scare campaigns and no longer sent her soldiers out to slaughter the Tribes. And She faced more than just the Pagani. Many of Her children had splintered away to form new Churches. Not all of them were opposed to alternate religions. Other Paths grew in strength and presence. Her battlefield was split between many foes.

Her days were numbered -- it took many decades, but eventually the Church failed. And at that point Her true face was seen for a moment by the sibyls and seers, the fortune-tellers and witches, and those with the Sight. They Saw the shadow stretching towards them all from the ruined Church and realized it covered Her as well.

Realization struck as the Tribes understood the Church was not the Enemy but rather a simple puppet. The Dominion, a faceless entity concealed behind religious and government bodies, pulled the strings. And no one knew. Not even those for whom the Church represented Faith.

The Dominion sought out secular strongholds from which to continue the war. And a Prophecy emerged.

The Dominionists wanted a State ruled by one Faith, one Dogma, one Ideal. A State capable of destroying all others. After deserting the Church they sought to achieve this from within the governments and judicial systems of the world. The Tribes worked to build resistance amongst their various cultures to the Dominionist Path.

And for a time it worked.

Bahiya's hands trembled, setting her golden bangles to chiming. She set her coffee down on the table and buried her head in her hands. "Prophecy has come alive. The Priestess is dead."