“Martin, you with me?” The Rabbit man waved his hand on front of Martin's face. “ Still, there?”

“What? What are you?” Martin could not stop staring. The rabbit man stood at least 2 metres tall, slightly taller than Martin, but the long ears added at least another 30 centimetres to his height. Large black eyes stared at him from the rabbit face. A rabbit face and ears attached to a human like body though with heavily exaggerated thigh muscles. The rabbit man wore tight fitting yellow pants and a bright blue shirt that was open at the neck showing the white fur beneath that covered its face and arms though its hands, and hands they were, though a look downwards showed the expected rabbit feet. In one hand he held a cane, a gentleman’s walking cane with a finely cast metal head of a rabbit with ears down to make it easy to grasp. A tell tale seam gave away the fact to Martin that it concealed a blade. So, a rich man’s cane, both fashionable and, he had no doubt, a fully functionable weapon if need be.

“Finished staring? Shall I turn around so you can examine my tail?” The rabbit man’s voice held a harsh edge and it made Martin a bit nervous.

He took a step back, swallowing as he spoke. “I’m sorry Sir, I have never seen anything like you. Am I in trouble Sir?”

The Rabbit man burst out laughing and stepped forward placing his arm around Martin’s shoulder. “Of course not, you have never met anyone, or anything, like me. You are newly awakened and have yet to step through the gate. And I doubt the old fogey’s in this place gave much thought to that since none are under three centuries old and have most likely forgotten what it was like when they first awakened. Come, follow me.”

He dropped his arm and started walking then looked back. “Come on, we will talk in a more comfortable place and you will learn what you need.” He smiled, the large teeth in the front of his mouth looking sinister although Martin had never found them so on the small rabbits he had sometime hunted in the fields outside. Briefly he wondered if the man knew of those, and would resent Martin for it, but he followed, there did not seem to an option. The Magi had seemed normal enough, but now the rabbit man was too bizarre and re-awoke his fears of what they would do. And the rabbit man said the youngest of the Magi was three centuries old. He could not understand that, but it seemed to go with the off-hand remark from Vilandre about King Horness the Seventh. And that served to feed the fear that they dabbled with beings from other worlds and he would be their sacrifice.

The rabbit man led him down the passage and through a door to a descending staircase. From behind, Martin could see the fluffy rabbit tail the man had mentioned, and it seemed incongruously cute on the figure. Martin saw the strong leg muscles flexing as they descended, far lower than he could have imagined, much lower than the entry hall and, he assumed, well below the manor. The staircase ended at a plain wooden door, strange sigils carved into it. Even with his new found reading skill they made no sense. The rabbit man pushed it open and walked through. Martin followed and found himself in a large open meadow.

In shock he looked up. The sky was bright blue, and the sun shone down but he thought he saw another much dimmer sun just above the horizon. Short grass covered the meadow, wildflowers of various shapes and colours pushing up through it. The rabbit man was walking in front of him, moving towards a small hill with a door within. Looking behind him Martin saw the field continue, and the door to the manor standing open in the middle of the field, with the stairs leading down to it visible.

“Do shut the door,” he heard the rabbit man shout, “though it is peaceful here, you never know when something unwanted will appear and you don’t want it disturbing your family.”

Martin quickly closed the door. He did not know what the man was talking about, but who knew what was in this strange place. He stumbled after the man, the sweet smell of the grass and the flowers coming to him. But it was all wrong, they should be deep beneath the earth, and no meadow like this existed anywhere near the village. He followed, now more fearful than ever, the sweat on his back and brow not just from the suns above but from the growing fear. He turned back, ready to run, but the closed door no longer existed and he did not know how to make it re-appear.

The door, a round door, painted in a bright green with a brass doorknob, knocker and keyhole opened into a comfortable entry hall. A small table stood to one side with a vase with freshly picked wild flowers, the floor was polished wood strips. It was well lit by lamps on the wall, casting a soft yellow light across it. All from flames that flickered and danced , but seemed to have no source. A hat and coat stand stood next to the door, with an umbrella stand beneath containing a mixture of umbrellas. He had seen a few umbrellas in the village and had helped Master John with their construction, but they were expensive, in the realm of nobles’ wealthy enough to commission a smith to make one. A stand with six, some plain black, others in bright colours, one even of a thin material with a lacey fringe seemed an extravagance. As did the basket of canes into which the cane his host, or captor, he was not yet sure, had been deposited.

He followed the rabbit man through the entry hall and passage into what seemed to be a small study though the passage continued onwards. The room was well appointed. Some of the lamps hung from the ceilings, away from the walls with their book shelves, glass doors closing in the shelves. Towards the back of the room a desk with a small lamp of its own on an arm hanging over a leather covered blotter. In front of the desk stood two more chairs, currently arranged around a small table, a silver tray upon it, with a silver kettle, steam coming from its spout, with a silver jug and bowl alongside, two small cups alongside. Martin could only stare at the riches. He doubted many nobles could afford such luxury.

“Sit, we have much to talk about. You have much to learn and there is much to do. Your awakening must be completed and from there you will need to need to learn what is expected of you. Of all Magi.”

He sat at the table, waiting for Martin to take the other seat.

“Have some tea, a civilised drink though I doubt you will have been introduced to it.” He poured from the kettle into each of the cups, adding milk and lumps of sugar to each. He picked his up, sipping it slowly.

Martin copied him, sipping slowly at the drink. Pleasant from the milk and sugar though with an underlying taste that hovered between pleasant and bitter.

“Who are you? What are you?” He blurted the words out, while carefully laying the cup down, scared of breaking the delicate item. He had never seen ceramic work so fine.

“Ah, introductions. I have yet to introduce myself so let us start there. I am Sir Finebrook. My family are long time allies of your covenant and serve as gate keepers. Both to here and to the wider realm. As to what I am, some call us beast kin, a most insulting term implying that we are nothing more than beasts with legs! To the more educated, we are known as the Gwathur and our resemblance to hybrid beasts from other worlds a mere unfortunate coincidence, and the ignorance of this an indication of being uncouth and a boor!”

He looked at the shocked expression on Martin's face, the clear lack of comprehension as to what he was hearing.

“Hmm, they have told you nothing! You do not even know where you are, do you? So let me ask you, have you ever heard stories of fairies, of the Fae? And no, not the silly ones of flighty little creatures dancing amongst the flowers.”

“The village was often visited by a roaming storyteller. He told us many stories of the Fae, of the battle between the light Fae and the dark. That the light Fae fought for good and light, the dark to destroy us and to our world.”

“So, you know better than to think all Fae are sweet little creatures and nothing more than harmless little flitterlings dancing on the flowers. Now for the bad news. There are no light or dark Fae, just Fae, and they fight against a threat that threatens not just their world, but those that touch on it, including yours and mine.”

Sir Finebrook got up, pulling a book down from one of the shelves and opening it to an illustration within. In it, Martin saw a landscape resembling that of the worst tales he had heard of the realms of Hell. Flaming horses with skulls for heads ridden by demons whose heads burned with a white fire as they wielded weapons, swords, whips, maces, hammers and many others, some of which he recognised, others unknown, against their foes. And those foes were myriad. He saw men, knights on horseback, Magi throwing spells, others on the ground wielding bows, axes and more. Alongside them he could see more of the Gwathur, their rabbit ears swept down by helmets or standing by the human Magi casting spells of their own. Others fought alongside them; wolf men, cat men, and other combinations of man and animal. Strange creatures from the tales appeared, dwarves and gnomes, elves and centaurs.

“That is what this is about, Martin. A battle between those of us native to our worlds and those that would take them for themselves. That is what the Magi are. Those on the worlds touched in such a way that they can pass between worlds and have the power to enter the battle.”

Sir Finebrook got up and stepped back then dropped to his knee his head lowered to Martin.

“That is why I, and my family, are sworn servants to the covenant and are your servants. We cannot fight but are honoured to help those who can. You will meet more of us later. Now, the time has come for your awakening to be completed, and for you to learn from those who can teach.”

***

They finished their tea and Sir Finebrook stood up, smoothing out his shirt as he did so.

“Please, follow me, I must take you now to the academy.” He started walking, looking expectantly at Martin. With nothing else to do, Martin followed outside, watching as Sir Finebrook retrieved his cane at the door. They walked out into the meadow again, towards a small copse of trees. The one sun was almost below the horizon, the other overhead making weak shadows across the field. In the copse Sir Finebrook turned to him handing him a small silver key.

“This is your way back. To use it, put it into any door and turn, it will make it into a door to here. Don’t loose it, there are other ways back, but they are much harder and more arduous.” He handed the key to Martin and took an identical one out of his pouch. He pushed it towards one of the trees trunk, that now Martin saw was a concealed door, the knot in it containing a keyhole. The door swung open, into a small garden surrounded by wall. As they stepped though he heard a bell being rung and a Gwathur dressed as a footman coming forward, bowing to them.

“My Lords, the missive arrived and a carriage to the Academy has been arranged.” He turned around, leading through a glass door attached to the garden and through the house. Martin stared at the rooms, all richly decorated, from the well lit dining hall with a table set to seat at least 20 through the lounging area and entrance hall. All larger than any he had seen anywhere but the covenant, all lit by crystal chandeliers. It was surreal. Not two days ago he had been fearing death and now he had strange creatures that lived like the richest of nobles bowing to him and calling themselves his servants. The coach was as richly appointed as the house and was pulled by two horses. They at least seemed normal enough which calmed him, though he wondered if it would be taken askance if he pointed out that one needed to be reshoed.

***

The carriage pulled up in front of a large building. A huge wall surrounded it, leading to thick columns on which large wrought iron gates, at least ten metres tall, faced onto the street. Metal griffons were mounted onto the posts, just as two griffons rampant faced each other on the gates, a large eye with rays coming from it between them. As he and Sir Finebrook approached, a small door opened in the column, and a man in a blue and gold uniform stepped out.

Sir Finebrook nodded to him, bringing out a parchment from his pouch. Martin was taken aback, the parchment was definitely bigger than the pouch, plus he had seen him pull other things out of there. Yet another mystery of this strange place.

“I am Sir Finebrook, Gate Keeper. I bring one of the newly awakened for instruction.” He handed the parchment to the guard who examined it.

“I, Garh Jacks, acknowledge the Gate Keeper and the entrance of the Awakened.” He stepped back, waiting.

“Well, Martin, here is where we part ways. I cannot enter, beyond this point only the awakened are allowed. Here you will learn and grow. Do us proud, protect not just your own world, but those, like mine at the same nexus.”

Martin watched the strange creature leave, feeling nervous at this new place, not knowing what to do. So he did the only thing he could think to so. He stepped forward, looking at the guard.

“Sir, what do I do now?”