Get your facts first, and then you can distort them as much as you please - Mark Twain.
The tannoyed voice said words that meant nothing to him. He pressed against the flow of the crowd, their pushing cushioned by his deep coat. Keeping his eyes down he tried to avoid their questioning eyes as they struck him. The hood covered his face masking his white hair, hopefully stopping anyone tracking him that easily. Vienna had to be left behind. A few false trails then on to find Jack. To England.
EXCALIBUR: MFS Issue 4
DOWN AND OUT IN CORNWALL AND PARIS
Written and created by Mark Peyton
"Where are you going?"
Tangerine looked at him falteringly. "They called. I have to go. You know that."
"Before yes. But.. if you go they'll know what we've been inside. Tell her, Adam." Jack looked over his shoulder at Adam who sat nestled against a tree trunk. The long blonde haired man considered Jack, then shook his head. "Fat lot of good you are."
"Jack, just listen. I'll arrange to rendezvous in Portsmouth. It's far enough away that they might not instantly start asking questions." Jack threw up his arms and stalked across to his backpack. Tangerine followed and put her hand on his shoulder. "You asked me to trust you and follow blindly. Trust goes both ways. Whatever is down in Cornwall, you find for both of us. When the mission is over, I'll be back."
Jack nodded slowly.
Tangerine smiled and leaned forward to kiss his cheek. "At the moment, Jack, you're about the only person I trust." She walked back to her own possessions and picked them up silently. Looking up she saw Adam pointing her direction of travel and nodded. Her footfalls were heavy to start with until she heard her name being called. Looking back she saw Jack up in the branches.
"Hurry back and you can tell me what your real name is. Who knows I might tell you mine."
Her footfalls and mood were lighter after that.
The two walked in silence for much of the rest of the journey. The weather was not much of a hindrance as the forests cushioned them from the winds and provided some protection from the rain. Jack's thoughts were of what lay ahead. For all he knew of Adam this could be a trap of some sort. But if it wasn't... If it wasn't then there was the possibility of some truth. For the first time in his life Jack had contemplated his mortality. If not for Adam the Psycho Warriors would have feasted upon him. If he was normal he presumed he would have nightmares of them pressed in on him, but instead he saw himself clad in armour and what he assumed was a Church. Black Air was irreligious. There were religions within it, but there was no doctrine as such. Black Air didn't really need one. Its members were taught reliance upon one another rather than on a force or being that they could not prove. Jack had seen chapels during missions, but he had never stepped foot inside any sort of Church. That was part of the reason the dreams seemed strange. That and the strange metal armour which hung on his dreamself, like out of a museum. Jack was not one for history either. All part of his Black Air upbringing. It had been decided it wouldn't be wise for Jack to delve too much into history. His psyche profile suggested it might prompt him to ask questions. Black Air preached freedom of information, but too much thinking could lead to difficulties.
Of course Jack had never been told any of this. However, within Black Air there are cords of dissent. Not just in those we have seen. For this reason Jack was named Union Jack. A name with a proud heritage linked to the Pendragons. His namer had thought in so naming him, Jack would look into his name's past and start to see some truths.
There was no cushion against the wind in Portsmouth. Portsmouth was one of those towns that had grown to a city when England had taken back its green and pleasant lands. With the countryside becoming uninhabitable for a people now urbanised certain towns and cities began to grow to accommodate the influx. As forests erupted in the midst of some of the older cities replacements were formed around old towns. Portsmouth had become a major city as had many on the coast as the forests had been less destructive near to the sea. With the problems of erosion combated or lessened building on the coast became less dangerous.
Tangerine had never been here before. She'd spent little time in England before the last few weeks. London was a sprawling city, built on many overhanging levels as it competed against the forest for space. Portsmouth had not gone to the sky in its quest for living room. It had expanded out onto the sea. Large jetties with streets upon them jutted out from the harbour. Upon the sea were set islands of houses with large ships running between them. In the air the sky was filled with cargo vehicles. Even the ports had changed for this strange new island.
She made her way to a pub and activated her homing beacon to wait. She had her hair kept hidden beneath a hood to avoid lecherous attention. The thoughts hemmed in on her as the normals passed by her. Sometimes she wondered whether telepaths were the loneliest creatures on this world, forced to keep a distance, trying to resist taking a peek behind the facades. It was hard isolating yourself surrounded by others. Wondering what it might be like without this extra sense.
The Black Air agent came quickly. The woman who walked up to Tangerine was not someone she recognised. They exchanged the proper signs of recognition and Tangerine was escorted out of the pub towards a waiting hover vehicle. Tangerine's queries on who was in charge were met with a refusal to answer. Resigned to wait for the information Tangerine climbed on board the vehicle.
In front of hung a cloak of darkness in the air. From deep within the garment's confines a face appeared of a young man with a scar running diagonally across his face. She knew this 'creature' by reputation. A killer probably surpassing Scratch. It fed on its victims. This was Cloak.
PARIS
Drink followed drink. Alcohol tried to replace memory. Scratch sat to one end of the bar. Hours had passed since he'd found the open door. He had wandered, catching whatever flights had been available. This wasn't like him.
Seeing the faces of the dead.
What had Spitfire done to him?
Remorse was for other people. He hadn't felt guilt at a death in nearly a decade. He'd stopped counting how many he'd killed for Black Air.
Now their faces wouldn't leave his waking moments. And all spoke with Spitfire's last words to him. 'Learn something from me this time.'
So he drank to retreat from memories and guilt. Stored guilt.
As he drank he was watched.
CORNWALL
Adam had been aware of their watcher for a few minutes. If she hadn't wished her presence known he would have continued on. He pushed back his hair to look at Jack. Jack had not realised his companion had stopped and continued on as the mist gathered.
Stepping back the Immortal felt a subtle shift in time. He let his arms settle by his side, wishing for a cloak. At heart he was still a Medieval man. Not one suited to the great technological changes. He had left the embracing of the machine to those such as Crowe and the old Mys-tech board. In his heart he longed for simpler times.
The woman who had materialised by him, however, was perfectly comfortable with her times. Her longevity hadn't come to her till the latter part of the Twentieth Century and she was still learning the trade of the Immortal.
"So he's your champion, Adam?" she said sweetly.
"What makes him mine?"
"You're guiding him. I saw you rescue him. That makes him yours. I have no champion now and I'm surprised at you becoming involved with the lycra brigade. Your clan even managed to avoid my gaze for a while."
"My children are well trained, Dark Angel."
"Shevaun, please if I'm to call you Adam."
"I have no other name."
The Mist had gathered fiercely and the Dark Angel reached out with her hand and swept a oval clearing amongst the fog. The moisture hung on the edges of the oval as the space began to form a picture of Jack pushing his way through the fog. Sound gradually rose as Jack called out for Adam, waving one arm ahead of him trying to clear his path. Dark Angel looked to Adam then pulled a vial from her cloak. She poured the stark blue liquid onto the oval as Jack sank to his knees. Turning to Adam she said quietly, "So it begins."
The world suddenly started to pull Jack down. Gravity was no longer a friend or willing accomplice.
The first flash of light struck his eyes. He felt his eyelids prised open as the first vision hit.
His consciousness spiralled out of his body, up into the atmosphere. Stars showered down on his shoulders as he shot up. Beneath his feet he could see the world spinning. His body started to shift as behind the world a second Earth came into view. This second planet span at the same speed as the first, shifting in size, never greater than its twin. The two came to rest side by side as the newest settled at a fraction of the original. A flash emanated upon the twin as an identical eruption began on its forebear.
Jack's eyes watched the world in stereo as the mist came upon him once more.
Through the scrying glass the two Immortals watched. Adam nodded slowly at the visions.
"So, Adam, has your champion the wit to comprehend what he's been shown?"
Adam turned his face towards her. "With a little guidance, yes. Did you understand it without such hints?"
Shevaun, the Dark Angel, smiled. "Will he understand all he is shown then?"
"We shall see."
The second flash of light hit harder than the first.
Jack's knees felt the ground beneath him. Not the grass or mud he was expecting, but the coldness of stone. The mist had cleared once more and the light emanated from two torches flickering. Jack's eyes adjusted to the light as he looked around at the painted walls surrounding him. On each was a representation of various figures.
Facing him was what appeared to be an idolised picture of a hero. The figure stood holding a spear, standing upright as an invisible sun cast down on him. His blonde hair was short and his chin square. There was a stylised Union Jack on his pendant. If only Jack had known some history he might have recognised the man. Both his watchers were well aware of who they were being shown.
To this man's right stood a young boy, whose long black hair was tied back. The boy held himself regally, but stood with his hands clasped together as if he was hiding something. His eyes were a vivid red and Jack felt uneasy in his presence. Behind him stood a tower upon a hill, marked out by a setting sun.
As the room revolved Jack found himself looking at a figure he recognised. Captured in a stylised black robe, holding aloft his hands towards a cup stood Nocturne. The painting captured his features and his flowing white hair. The Cup hovered out of his grasp and on its surface was the embossed form of a sword. By his side stood a bearded man, clad in full armour, clasping his hand to a wound on his chest. His free hand held out his scabbarded sword to another face Jack recognised, that of the killer Scratch.
Jack's mind reeled as he felt his body shifted again. No control over his form. His attempts to close his eyes were fruitless as the vision continued. The last figure Jack remembered amongst the visions was his face with that of Adam behind.
Adam looked to the glass. "Our time is running short. We must show him the next stage before the visions are spent."
The slender fingers of the Dark Angel reached to touch the glass as she said, "The Quest may decide its own course. Your champion is being changed by forces outside even my control."
The stone floor fell away as Jack found himself knee deep in grass. From behind he felt a blade touch his shoulders then a force propel him forwards. Ahead of him rose a tower, a chapel of green. The structure in front of him was surrounded by forests all leading to the central tower carved from stone. It stood atop a mound which descended deep into the bowels of the earth, with but a single causeway allowing access. As Jack considered it he saw a black bird of some size perched upon its peak watching him. Its squawk was the only sound Jack could hear but he felt the pulse of the tower breathing.
Jack stepped back and once more hit the coldness of stone. Lantern light again surrounded him as a hand reached out from the darkness. Its long talons and almost putrefied flesh glistened in the dim light as they stretched ever closer to Union's face. He stood his ground as the mist came once again.
PARIS
The first blow hit his alcohol soaked body sharply. It sent Scratch to his knees and he tried to stand again. A voice from behind faded in and out as it said, "How much drugs do we have to feed into him to put him down?"
Another voice replied, "Obviously more," as a blow struck his knees preventing him from rising. His vision was severely impaired, his head swimming as he tried to stay unconscious. He couldn't even seem to form the command to use his powers.
"Spike him again," the second voice ordered.
A sharp pain struck his neck as he felt a syringe press in. He tried to raise his head, but to no avail as the new batch of drugs hit his system. Scratch fell to the ground heavily as consciousness gave up on him.
The last he heard was the second voice saying, "Bring him quickly."
NEXT ISSUE:
Who has Scratch? What mission has Tangerine been sent on and how might it relate to one of Jack's visions? Meet another member of the Clan Destine and will we see what has become of Jack? Find out in BATTLELINES.
This issue is dedicated to Luba Kmetyk, who I hope will recognise some of the figures on the walls and where the idea came from. This first segment of Excalibur should finish with issue 8 as the initial group works together. While hiding the truth the visions in this issue give a large number of clues to the future of the title and some of our cast. This is also the first appearance of a new cast member, who will be fairly important to the future of England.
MFS continues to grow with some new titles coming out and plans are underway for Black Air to pop up in some other places. And for one of our merry band to be involved in a storyline not for the squeamish.
News from my end of fanfic. I am no longer part of DCF. After months of problems on both sides Starman and Challs have packed up their bags. Where they are going to will get announced shortly, but if you want to keep up with their new stories no matter what then just write to me and I'll add you to the mailing list. On a Happier note Sand and Stage Mist lives once more back at the site it left. That's right Yesteryear is once more producing S&SM with a very rarely seen (unless you knew where to look) issue 3 coming very shortly. Oh and you can look for a guest written issue by me of X Men Underground in a few months while Bryan is away working. Plans are it'll answer what's at Europe's end of the Underground.
This month's recommended reading (apart from Doom 2 due in a few weeks) are the original Clan Destine series by Alan Davis in time for next issue and Jac Milnestein's Noir over at YY with guest appearances by some unusual people.
Any letters and letter column name suggestions to me at Starman26@hotmail.com