Chapter 10

Azazel had been born to Ilyena Wagner, a Roma girl of nineteen, in the sacristy of a church in a Russian hamlet so forgotten from time that not more than a hundred people knew its proper name. He never knew his father, at least, his real father. While traveling through the Russian countryside, Ilyena's vista had been attacked by enraged, superstitious farmers who believed the Roma to be witches and devils. They blamed the traveling people for a recent plague that befell the local's livestock, and armed torches, the farmers sought murderous retribution during the night. Taking her brother Ilya's hand, Ilyena fled for safety into the surrounding forest. The siblings lost everything – their family, home, and people – during the chaos and rampage. They wandered for days, terrified and alone, until they stumbled upon a party of hunters dressing a freshly killed stag. Reckless from hunger, Ilyena approached the men to beg for food. She tried using her telepathic powers, but she was too weak to be effective. When they realized what she was – "…a mutant, a monster" (Azazel practically spat the word) – she was seized by these men. Ilya was killed, an arrow piercing his heart, when he emerged from his hiding place and tried to save his sister from the hunters' malicious intentions.

Ilyena was raped, stabbed, and thrown into a nearby river, left for dead. By some small miracle, she survived long enough to wash up on the river's muddy banks far downstream at precisely the same moment that Father Kurt Dyatlov, the hamlet's priest, happened to be fetching water to bless. Using her last ounce of strength, Ilyena telepathically sent one word – mercy – to the startled holy man. She then fell into a sleep so deep that she did not wake for many weeks. Father Dyatlov immediately recognized Ilyena to be two very dangerous things – a mutant and a Roma – but he could not bring himself to abandon the foreign girl to such a godless death. Gently, he carried her broken body from the river into his church, where he nursed her back to health in secret. Over the months she lived under his care, two things became certain: Ilyena had arrived to his church pregnant, and the despite his piety and vows to his Christian God, Father Dyatlov had fallen in love with her.

Azazel was born with his crimson features and forked tail. When he first saw the child, Father Dyatlov thought Azazel was a punishment sent from God for the priest's mortal love for Ilyena. Grabbing a sword, he was prepared to end the child's life then and there. Azazel never knew why his life was spared. Perhaps it was the look in Ilyena's eyes as she cradled her infant son, her quiet plea to the priest that "…this child is the only family I have left," or simply Father Dyatlov's love for the wild, gypsy girl that fell into his life and changed it irrevocably. Whatever it was, the priest stowed his blade and allowed both Ilyena and Azazel to secretly remain on the second story of the church, hidden from the villagers and anyone else who might not be so kind to the mutant pair. Although the priest never acted upon his feelings for Ilyena (for he was a devout man), Azazel never knew a time when Father Dyatlov didn't cared for them as a man would care for his own flesh-and-blood family.

Azazel's childhood was not unpleasant. True, because of his appearance he spent most of his time within the church's inner sanctum, but he always had his mother or Father Dyatlov for company. His mother cherished him and indulged him when she could, sneaking her son outside to run and play in the surrounding woods whenever possible. From his mother he inherited a certain degree of recklessness, an ability to enjoy the simple things in life when the entire world seemed unfair and unforgiving. His most treasured childhood memories were sitting on the soft moss of the forest floor, twisting his small fingers in Ilyena's ebony hair while she held him and told him fairy tales and stories of their people without ever once speaking a word.

Father Dyatlov was a strict but fair man. He was a former soldier in the Czar's army, and disenchanted with a life of violence, he turned to a life of piety for redemption. From an early age, he instructed Azazel in languages, art, history, and music - all the finer points of civilized culture. The priest believed that a strong classical education would help Azazel counteract his demonic appearance. He also taught Azazel how to fence – a favorite pastime of his – and how to fight to protect himself, a skill the priest sadly knew Azazel would need to survive outside the church walls. Through Father Dyatlov's influence, Azazel developed a love for books and the piano, both of which kept him fairly content with his indoor life. It was only during weekly Sunday services that Azazel felt keenly cheated by his mutation. He freely admitted to Mystique that, as a young child he would often spy on the parish families during church services and later cry in secret because he looked so different from the other children. As much as he enjoyed his books, drawing, music and his fencing, they were not replacements for a normal life, something his mother and the priest could never give him.

During the winter when Azazel turned ten, a survivor from his mother's vista appeared in the sleepy Russian hamlet. Ilyena was elated to be reunited with the handful of people who survived the attack that destroyed her world so many years prior. Though she was no longer a girl, Ilyena never lost her restless spirit. Azazel knew that his mother's time confined inside the church walls was a great sacrifice she made to keep him safe. At the beginning of spring, Ilyena left to travel with the Roma once again. She left Azazel in the care of Father Dyatlov. It wasn't an easy decision, but she knew that Azazel was too young and his mutation too visible to safely travel. Although Ilyena returned every winter to be with her son, she never truly left him behind. Until he joined her, Azazel never went to sleep at night without his mother reading to him using the mental bond they had created. It was during this time that Azazel's teleportation abilities developed, so he was also able to travel to visit his mother and meet their people. He remained with Father Dyatlov until he was fifteen, when the priest took sick and died from a fever, although Azazel secretly knew that Father Dyatlov died from a slowly breaking heart each time Ilyena left. After burying the priest, Azazel left the only home he had ever known to travel with the Roma.

"…Then when I was around seventeen - I believe the year was 1940 - we came to live with Margali's people. They work a traveling circus. I performed knife-throwing, which I mastered from learning fencing." He paused in his story, and with a quick flourish, two silver daggers slid easily from his sleeves into his hands. He held them up for Mystique to see. She always knew he kept weapons concealed, but she never would have thought these short swords were once used for a stage act in a previous life. He slid the daggers back into his sleeves.

"When I preformed, the people watching thought I wore a costume. It was a good life, while I had it. But eventually, things changed…" a sad look came into his eyes as he trailed off. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly before continuing. He faced Mystique.

"You know why your Magneto fights, da?"

"Yes, of course." Erik had spoken of it often with Mystique when the Brotherhood first started. "He fights because of the death camps. His people were being rounded up and exterminated, and now the government wants do the same to us mutants."

"Correct. Do you also know that it was not just the Jewish who were taken?" Mystique shook her head.

"Da, the Roma were also taken, over a quarter million, simply for being Roma. They were tortured. Used in medicine experiments. Murdered." At this word, a hard look came into his eyes. Mystique saw him ball up one of his fists.

"The Roma are considered animals by many governments of the lands they travel through. They have always accepted people who are outcasts, runaways because maybe they have abilities that humans do not have. These people were especially taken for experimenting, treated worse than the others." At this, a thought solidified in Mystique's head. She looked back to the dancers in the distance and realized what had been escaping her all evening. It all makes sense.

"Margali's people aren't scared of us because they are carriers of the X-gene."

"Da, mutants are not new to the Roma. When I first came to live with the people, I was scared to show myself, but when I did, no one called me demon or monster, even those who had never seen a mutant so…obvious as me. The few humans who saw me, though…" He scowled, "well, they had nothing nice to say."

"So, are these people," Mystique pointed toward the firelight, "your family? Are they your cousins and stuff?"

"Nyet, these are Margali's people, not mine. I only had my mother, who lost her family in the attack on her vista before I came. Margali and her children are the closest thing I have to what you call family, but we are not related with blood."

"You are related through marriage." Mystique tread this water as carefully as she could. She did not want to provoke Azazel into silence like she had too many times in their previous conversations.

"You were married to Margali's sister." Azazel nodded and said nothing for a while, choosing instead to gaze off in the distance. Mystique held her breath. After a few tense seconds, he turned and faced her. Reaching into his shirt, he produced the silver locket, opened it and displayed the photograph inside.

"Adriana." His voice became thick and unsteady as he spoke her name. He looked down and took a deep breath. When he looked up at Mystique, his crystal eyes were glistening but he was smiling proudly.

"She was my knife-throwing partner. She was mutant too, had ability to move things by thinking about moving them."

"Telekinesis?"

"Da, that word." Azazel made no attempt to pronounce the foreign word. "She could control her powers well with her mind, but they were also tied very strongly to how she felt. Sometimes, if she had too much sadness or anger, she had trouble controlling her power. She was not good person to fight with. Luckily when we did fight, I could simply vanish when she threw something at me." At this, he chuckled. Mystique assumed he was recalling a particularly memorable fight.

"I think she and I were made for one another." Mystique smiled at Azazel's bittersweet interpretation of love in the world of mutant powers. He fell silent again, his expression lost in thought as he gazed at the still pond. Mystique did not interrupt; she felt lucky herself that he had spoke so much already. When he started talking again a few moments later, his tone had changed to become much more serious.

"Adriana…she was carrying our child when it happened. She wanted the child so badly, you must understand." He said this to Mystique this as if she had been challenging this idea.

"I was away from the vista when the soldiers came. Adriana was not with me because teleporting made her sick in her condition. Many people ran and escaped, but Adriana…she would have fought to protect her family, and that is how they would have known she was not human. They took her, and my mother." He paused to steady his voice.

"When I returned, everything was gone. Burned. I took the sword Father Dyatlov gave me and all I could think was to find Adriana, but I had no idea where. I looked for long time. Each day was like a death for me. Eventually, my mother was able to fight the people who took her enough to reach me telepathically, and to tell me where they were before she was shot. When I found Adriana she was…in a cage, like a wild animal. Covered with blood. She did not know me anymore. What they had done to her… when I found her, she…" His voice broke. Even in the darkness, Mystique could see wet trails of tears reflecting on face.

"She…she had killed our child herself. She was screaming that she would not let them take it." He looked down.

"If I had been there, I would have…I could have…" Azazel shook his head.

"I tried to calm her but she kept screaming. Soldiers found us. When they appeared, I felt rage I could not control. Rage for all the things they had done to my people, to my Adriana and to my child. I took my sword and I killed them. I had never killed anyone before that day, but I took many lives with no mercy. As I did this, a hand grabbed my shoulder. I thought it was a soldier. I turned, I thrust my sword…then I saw Adriana. She was looking at me, scared, her hand on my shoulder. She said my name. Before I had time to realize what I did, she was dead at the end of my sword."

Azazel covered his face with his hands. He made no sound except for an occasional gulp of breath. Hot tears erupted from Mystique's eyes and dripped down to her chin. She put her hand on his shoulder. She did not know what she could do or say that could possibly comfort her fellow mutant. He sat silent for a long time, tormented by his memories.

"I buried Adriana myself in the yard of the church, next to my mother and Father Dyatlov. That was 1945. I visit the graves often to remind myself why I must continue to fight." Azazel turned to Mystique, his eyes hard and raw. When he next spoke, it was in a tone of deadly seriousness.

"The first time we spoke, you called me a killer. Da, I am a killer, I will never deny this. But know that I kill those who deserve to die for what they do to us."

Although it was still dark, the sky was beginning to streak with paler shades of blue, heralding the inevitable breaking of dawn. The distant dancers had retired and their fires had died down to softly glowing embers that burned like fireflies in the night. Mystique was lying back and watching the starts quietly fade, trying to find the constellations Azazel pointed out before they winked out of the sky. Azazel had been quiet for the better part of the hour, gazing at the pond and occasionally skipping a stone on its mirror surface. After everything he had told her, she was not surprised that he wanted to be alone with his thoughts.

Eventually, he turned away from the pond. Leaning back, he supported his weight on his palms. He glanced over at Mystique with an unsure, self-conscious smile. After all he had told her, Mystique thought he looked exposed, maybe even a bit vulnerable.

"So, now you know about me. You must return the favor." He looked at her expectantly. Mystique bit her lip and turned her eyes away.

"I don't remember." Azazel looked at her incredulously, raising an eyebrow. She sat up and faced him, putting her hands in the air in a surrender gesture.

"I'm not lying, really. I don't remember much before I found Charles. I lived on the streets until I broke into the his parents' mansion, and then he invited me to live with them." She thought back to the day she snuck into the lavish house to steal food. Rich families were always the easiest to steal from, despite how impossible the idea seemed. For a long time she believed these people would have the highest security for their lavish lifestyles, but in reality, it was easy to pose as a maid or hired help and simply walk in the front door. Most people who lived in luxury barely took the time away from their social calendars to even attempt to learn their maids' faces, let alone realize that a bit of food or money was no longer in their possession. She took a deep breath and told Azazel everything she knew about her life leading up to the formation of the Brotherhood.

Mystique tired hard many times in her past to simply remember, but the details of her life were fleeting. Her human name was Raven Darkhölme; she somehow knew this to be true. But Mystique couldn't recall other important facts. She wasn't even entirely sure of her own age. When asked, she replied 22, but this was based on an estimate from the age Charles assigned her when they first meet that night so long ago. She did not remember her parents or a family at all. Did she have brothers and sisters? Aunts and uncles? A past beyond a few foggy, half-guessed memories? The earliest memory she could reach was one she tried desperately to forget: strong hands, familiar hands, holding her small body under water while she kicked, clawed, and fought for breath. The crushing cold of the water, the pounding of suffocating, and the knowledge that she had trusted and loved the hands that held her under. How she escaped death she simply couldn't remember; how she could forget the parent who tried to kill her was unbelievable. All Mystique truly remembered from her childhood was hiding.

For as long as she could remember, Mystique had always had always had the ability to transform her skin. She knew that at some point she must have looked normal; her mutation must have stayed at bay until she was old enough to walk and feed herself. She learned to speak, read, and write from somewhere, which suggested she remained with a family until she was at least eight or ten. After her escape from a watery death, Mystique could only recall pieces about life on the streets. Stealing food, warm clothing, and money; shifting her skin to remain anonymous; sleeping in bus malls, seedy motels, and alleyways with nothing but newspapers for warmth; being terrified all the time that she would slip up and be discovered as a freak. Most of all, she remembered simply watching normal, human children with their parents and crying herself to sleep because that would never be her life. As she grew, she learned to control her mutation until she could hide in plain sight all the time, and it killed her. Every day she lived in fear of being discovered by the same people whose lives she envied so much.

When she walked into the Xaviers' kitchen, it truly was a dream come true. Charles was the only other mutant she had ever encountered. She had finally found someone who understood her, and he became her family, her world, and her home that she yearned for as long as she could remember. For most of her life, it was enough; but like Azazel said earlier, things changed. When she met Hank, something in her head shifted. Mystique started questioning how much mutants with invisible powers – those who could easily pass as human - could ever truly understand what mutants like she and Azazel had to face each time they looked into a mirror. Did they have the same childhood nightmares of being discovered like she and Azazel? Did they have to face the stares and judgment from humans who didn't even have a second to try and understand they were just trying to live a normal life? That they hadn't asked for any of their gifts, as Margali called them? True, both she and Azazel found other mutants to live with, but even then…Mystique never could leave the protection of Charles's side, and Azazel could never leave the safety of Father Dyatlov's church or the Roma people. Mystique found it ironic that Azazel's mutation allowed him to be anywhere in the world he desired, yet he had to keep himself hidden away from it. Almost as ironic as hiding from humans by becoming one of them.

"Why did you show me this?" Mystique motioned across the pond to the now silent caravans and burned out fires. She knew that these people were very special to Azazel, and she was sure he wouldn't have brought just anyone here to experience this. She was confused as to why he would share this with her, especially after what she had done by wearing Adriana's skin a few weeks before. He quietly considered her question for a few seconds be for answering simply, and matter-of-factly:

"Because you would understand." Azazel looked at Mystique for a minute before elaborating.

"The others…they do not understand what it is like for you and I. To hide all the time because how we look is not accepted. To do what you and I did – to stand up and walk away from another life, one where we had people who did accept us, even though we were different - and to know we can never go back, so instead we go forward to fight for those of us who cannot fight for themselves."

And just like that, Mystique did understand. It dawned on her just how similar she and Azazel truly were. She had never met another mutant so physically different like she was, or heard another mutant express the same childhood fears, dreams, and desires. She had always assumed Azazel was so stoic and so brave, but deep down inside, he had been just like her at some point in his life. Azazel was looking at Mystique intently, as if reading her mind.

"When I was small child, I used to pray every night to meet someone who looked like me. If I were still a religious man, I would have thought you were sent to me by God." He smiled and then turned away to gaze out into the fading darkness.

Tears formed again in Mystique's eyes. She didn't trust her voice to reply to his words. In the dark, sitting next to him, Mystique reached out and gently laid her hand over his. Azazel did not face her, but after a slight hesitation, he curled his fingers around hers. As they sat in silence and watched the sun break over the horizon, Mystique wondered: if she were a religious woman, would she have believed that God was speaking to her through the guise of a devil.