Stigmata
A Doctor Who fanfic story
by Bex

Part 3


"Well, it was worth a try," the Doctor muttered, annoyed but not surprised, as he crossed the muddy square and moved through the market day throngs. Curiously, he had sensed no malice from Xavier, no sense that he knew about the extracurricular activities of his huntsmen. The lord's mood had turned ugly only after he had mentioned Denora's name. Hmmm . . . Something to ask her when he saw her again.

The huntsmen were already back dogging his footsteps; he could see them behind him. Barely bothering to be discreet anymore. He had to shake them and meet with Gerant's visitors on their own ground, without this interference. Rubbing his chin with his right hand, the Doctor considered, then turned left, down a muddy alleyway, around the forge, tip-toed behind the cooper's shed, then saw exactly the type of person he was looking for.

The boy who'd challenged him that morning, then led him to father Beran was perched upon a barrel. The Doctor alighted on a barrel next to him, held up a finger to his lips for silence, then leaned forward and whispered his request.

? ? ?

Giraud paused, staring at the shed behind which the Doctor had disappeared, then waited for the evil one to reappear, his heart thudding with the importance of what he was doing. God's work. Haffnon, he knew, was somewhere nearby, making sure their quarry didn't escape their sight. Very appropriate, that they should be called upon to hunt Evil, to secretly guard the village against the evil minions of Satan, without reward or recognition. Such important work justified even lying to his overlord.

A crash and scream made him start violently. Racing around the corner, he saw a young boy--Fortin's whelp, it looked like--sprinting towards him, crying hysterically. On either side, villagers close enough to hear began to peek out of their doorways.

The boy was nearly incoherent, as he pointed spasmodically back the way he had come, at the tanner's shed. "I--I--I--"

This "Doctor" demon showing his true aspect, it had to be! Haffnon appeared, eyes wide, ready for battle. "Stay back! We'll take care of this!" Giraud snapped to the onlookers, and they leapt forward, flung open the doors to the barn and prepared to do holy battle.

? ? ?

The Doctor dared a peek from around a nearby corner, to see that his diversion had gone better than he had imagined. Martin glanced up and around, then noticed him, at the edge of the crowd, and grinned. Grinning back and giving the lad a "thumbs-up," the Doctor turned and hared for the town gates, determined to make the most of his chance.

Within a quarter-hour, the Doctor was far up the hillside, moving steadily up the track. The trees around were dappled with late afternoon sunbeams. Surely anyone working up here would be on their way back down to the village.

He met no one. Pausing to scratch his head in the increasingly oppressive silence, he called out: "And you can stop that as well--I'm not impressed!"

Not a sound fell in the thick quiet. Then a dozen myriad noises returned: a nearby cricket chirped, wings fluttered as a dove flashed through the pines under which he was walking. Somewhere a branch fell.

"I think it's time you talked to me, without your guard of humans. Or are you afraid?" Add a touch of taunt; that usually brought even the most cautious Wizard of Oz imitator out from behind their curtain.

Nothing for several long moments. Then the sense of presence magnified, grew ten-fold. Whether another attempt to frighten, impress, or just their psychic "signature," he could not yet tell.

"We do not hide." A whispery voice, as much felt as vocalized.

The Doctor suppressed a smile and turned to look, then spun in a slow circle. Nothing. "What do you call this, then? I don't see you."

"We are not made to convenience your ocular sensors." Definitely annoyance there. Then the Doctor saw the faintest shimmer off to his right, just on the edge of his vision range. "Ah, there you are." There seemed to be six surrounding him, the flashes of silver hinting at their shapes--shorter than him, probably no more than four feet. Humanoid, but with a disturbing plasticity to their forms . . . He found himself wondering how much of each "vision" had been seen as opposed to psychically "implanted" in the minds of the humans lucky--or unlucky--enough to have seen these beings.

The Doctor decided to be blunt: "Where have you come from? And what are you doing here on Earth, manipulating these humans?"

The beings hesitated, engaging in whispery conference while he waited. The one closest to him, evidentally their spokesman, said, "Who are you, that this should concern you?"

The trump card. Sometimes just his title was enough to loosen the resolve of some of the more cautious species. Ironic, really, considering his renegade status in the eyes of his people--amazing what power there could be in a name.

"I am the Doctor, a Time Lord of Gallifrey," he said.

Another whispered consultation, longer than the first. Then: "Those names mean nothing to us."

The Doctor's eyes narrowed. He didn't know enough about these creatures to know if they were lying or not, but that was irrelevant. So they wanted to play hardball, eh?

"We are of Xert. You will leave and bother us no more--you are one and we are many."

"Leaving you to do what to these villagers? You've been psychically contacting them. Why?"

"We ready them for the Culling."

The Doctor's eyebrows flew up. "Culling? That doesn't sound very promising. What does it involve?"

No answer.

"I'm afraid," the Doctor said then, consideringly, "that I can't let you do that. One of your 'subjects' is wounded; he might die in these septic conditions, because of the men you sent to kill me! That I'm used to, but I will not stand by and see innocent bystanders hurt!" His eyes narrowed. "You could at least treat your experimental subjects better!"

His anger seemed to frighten them; the ring of silvery beings drew wider, moving away from him as if he had driven them back with his impatient thoughts.

"The one known as 'Leon'. That was . . . unfortunate. But he disobeyed us."

"Is that all these people are: puppets to obey you?!"

The silver flashes darted yet further back. The Doctor paused, considering. Then, stepping forward, he began to project various thoughts at them, letting the associated emotion follow naturally.

Of all the emotions, anger, especially shaped as defiance, repelled them.

"You're sensitive to emotions, aren't you?" he said, thoughtfully. Looking up, his gaze suddenly sharp, the Doctor hazarded: "You want them for their emotions, don't you?"

The silver shadows surged wildly. He seemed to have, the Doctor guessed, hit the nail on the head . . .

? ? ?

Denora peered over a lichen-encrusted rock, staring with astonished eyes at the tableau downslope from her: the Doctor, turning as he shouted at nothingness. The occasional silver glint, as if from sun shining off metal, confused her eyes. She blinked, her heart thudding as she strained to hear.

He was arguing with no one!

She closed her eyes, miserable, as a thought that hadn't before occurred to her intruded. What if he were simply mad? Touched by God, as the priest had explained to her one day when she had wondered about the flavors of madness. Cursed or blessed, it could explain his strange behavior. If Jehovah had claimed the Doctor as his own . . . And she had been so sure he was of Fayre.

The glowing figure caught her utterly by surprise. She opened her eyes to see a beautiful woman before her, surrounded by a pale nimbus of light. Then the figure stepped forward and reached with a long hand to touch her forehead, and Denora closed her eyes again as the being bestowed its blessing upon her. It was utter peace and love and hope--everything her weary heart desired, and she wept, soundless tears of joy and terror.

And then the figure told her what she had to do to preserve this state forever.

? ? ?

"Listen to me - you can't just show up here and psychically manipulate these humans--it simply isn't cricket. They're not used to such contact; you could be causing them irreparable harm." The Doctor was remonstrating with someone unseen.

The words Denora did not understand, but the man she'd thought was a friend was a demon, challenging the holy ones, the bringers of light and love. He would destroy them if he could. She had to stop him.

Denora darted forward and flung herself upon the evil one, the knife she held flashing as she stabbed downwards at his chest with grim purpose.

He went down under the determined assault, crying out in surprise and pain as the knife slashed down and through fabric, finding flesh. Then he twisted, shoved hard, and rolled away. Denora gathered herself, sprang on him again and a few moments later found herself flat on her stomach, the blade plucked from the nerveless hand pinioned behind her back.

She kicked, uselessly, and wept at her failure.

"Is that the best you can do? Cowardly attacks, using humans as your catspaws?"

Denora lay, tears leaking down the side of her face as her captor flipped her over. Green eyes stared hard at hers. She stared back, unable to look away, and felt a shock, like a blow to her inner self.

The demon reached to tap her forehead with a forefinger. "Denora," it commanded, "wake up!"

Denora blinked, then stared up at the Doctor where he was leaning over her. She sat up as he moved away. "What is . . . What . . .?"

He turned away to glare at the empty glade around them before turning back to send a soothing smile her way. "It's nothing. You felt an irresistible urge to attack me. An occasional side effect of knowing me, I'm afraid."

Denora stared. "I-I thought you were a demon! Evil!"

"You were convinced I was," he replied, then pointed to absolutely nothing. "This being considered that a clever idea."

"T-there's nothing there!"

"Oh. Beyond your perceptual range, then."

The words meant nothing to her. Denora slumped, her head in her hands as tears again began to flow.

The next moment, the Doctor was at her side, tutting. He pulled a square of fabric from his vest and urged her to wipe her face with it. It was luxurious, softer than the finest linen, as fine as anything Xavier had in his cupboards. She did as he bid, then struggled to rise, like a wobbly new calf. The Doctor helped her up.

"You're mad," she said, spiteful in her confusion.

"Possibly," he said, flashing a smile. "And you," he said, holding her face steady with his hand and peering deeply into her eyes, "are suffering from psychic shock--that was quite a whammy they hit you with, to make you attack me like that."

Something stirred in Denora's memory. "Psychic shock? You said this of Leon and the others . . ."

"Yes."

"These . . . demons. They attacked me?"

"Used you, tried to make you a tool, yes."

Denora closed her eyes and anger shook her, over the ache in her skull and the nausea in her stomach.

"They are . . . evil. Send them away, man of Fayre."

The Doctor frowned. "Denora," he said gently, "I am not from that place your stories speak of. I am just a traveller."

"I know you for what you are," she insisted, frightened but determined. "Just please drive them away, these demons. What price do you demand of us? I will pay it."

He looked away at the clearing. "Do you see? What more proof do you need of the damage you're causing here?!" His expression darkened, as if he had received an answer that displeased him. "Come on, Denora. Back to the village."

"You are running away from them?"

He glanced at her, his mouth tightening. "No. But they just told me they've sent for their pet huntsmen, and it's quite a different thing to deprogram two angry assassins at once."

Denora gulped, and hurried along at his side through the darkening forest.

? ? ?

"Of all the stubborn, rude . . .!" The Doctor was fretting.

"So we can do nothing?"

He looked up sharply from where he was sitting in front of her fireplace. "I didn't say that."

Her voice was even. "Perhaps Lord Xavier has the power to drive them out. We shall have to tell him about them, and--"

The Doctor looked over. "You don't sound very enthusiastic. What occurred between you and him?"

Denora paused where she was carrying several bowls from hearth to table. "He had a stillborn son," she said reluctantly. "I was present at the birthing."

"Ah." She glanced over to see his face in profile in the dim firelight, nodding as if something had just been confirmed. He suddenly winced. "Forgot about that," he muttered, rotating his shoulder with a grimace.

"I hurt you!" Denora exclaimed, stung. "Why did you not say so?"

"It's nothing," he declared, but let her fuss over him a little, let her clean the small stab wound, superficial really, with warm water. The blood had already stopped. His was a fast-healing people, he told her.

"I never expected to see one of you, not like this, in my own home," Denora admitted then. The Doctor winced again but said nothing. "My grandmother said she'd heard a Rade once, heard your voices carried on the wind. But you seem to have all gone away, left us here alone . . ."

"Why is it so hard to believe that I might be just a simple traveller?" the Doctor complained. He glanced up to see her looking at him, an arch expression on her face.

"Anyone can see you are no more an ordinary man than I-I am Lord Xavier and he an impostor!" she retorted. But the young midwife was smiling.

The Doctor considered. Despite his exasperation, perhaps Denora had a point--to her, he might well be from Fayre--if that definition simply meant someone not of her people. Not human.

He shrugged inwardly and changed the subject. "You're right," he declared, jumping up.

"What?" she said, startled.

"We shall have to tell Xavier. Let's go!"

"Now?!" She looked panicked.

"Never put off till tomorrow what you can do today, Denora!" He strode towards the door and looked back. "I need you to help explain our situation to Lord Xavier," he said matter-of-factly. "I'm a stranger, but you've lived here all your life and you now know as much as I do about the situation."

After a moment of hesitation, she followed.

? ? ?

"Welcome once again to Gerant, your gsrace," Xavier told the bishop as he stood before him, flanked by his entourage. The lord instructed that quarters be made ready for the party and sent a servant to fetch Father Beran. Xavier had always respected Vernon and had been content enough when he had been elevated to his present status.

Soon Xavier was walking with his guest, fencing casually with the shrewd eyes and intelligent mind behind the cogent questions Vernon was asking him.

"I have no first-hand knowledge of these visions, your grace. As far as I know, only a few villagers have been so affected."

"True miracles are rare gifts from God," Vernon said. "But all possibilities must be explored. Having received word of these visions and having to pass through here anyway, I deemed it prudent to stop here for a few days to investigate."

Xavier bowed his head briefly in assent. To make a case for lower Church tithes in the parishes located on land he controlled, more likely. Then again, it was just as well he was here; when pressed, Beran had admitted to local unrest as word of the "visions" had spread. Word of the Church's attention to their plight would calm the populace.

"Milord. Your grace."

Both men turned. It was Xavier's steward, striding up behind them, looking apologetic. He bowed and said, "Milord, there's a man seeking a private audience with you. He says he has information of vital importance." He stressed the word vital and shrugged. "His words."

Xavier's eyebrows rose. He could see Vernon watching, like a silent hawk at his side. "Indeed. And who is this harbinger?"

"That Doctor fellow who was here earlier today."

Xavier said nothing, but his gaze sharpened. "Trouble?" Vernon asked quietly.

Xavier moved a hand in a negligent gesture. "Nothing to trouble yourself over, your grace. A mere malcontent. He will be dealt with."

"I shall accompany you, in case it is related to the visions."

Xavier nodded grudging assent, his mood darkening further.

? ? ?

Guards accompanied the Doctor and Denora into the great hall. If the Doctor felt any discomfort at their escort, he didn't show it. Denora strove to do likewise, but she couldn't help comparing this to the reception the last time she had stepped within these stone walls.

The halls had been bustling with a taut excitement, as news of the lady's labor had spread throughout the castle. She and Margerie had been welcomed warmly and bustled off to the solarium.

It had ended a day later with cold, dead-ash failure: a still-born baby boy, prevented from being pushed forth by a twisted foot. She remembered their increasing fear as they had tried and tried to dislodge him, to no avail, as the Lady Alicia begged for an end to it. Until he slipped free. Too late.

Xavier had received the unspeakable news. His eyes expressionless, he told them very quietly to go. Leave.

Denora had shrunk from the empty deadness of his eyes, but her mentor calmly reminded the nobleman that their work was not yet finished. He walked away without comment.

They had helped an exhausted lady expel the afterbirth. She was too faint from exertion to register the tragedy, Denora thought, until she looked up, meeting Alicia's eyes. They were as dead as her husband's. She simply hadn't yet the energy to mourn, Denora realized.

That would come later.

She and Margerie had left the castle in shock, Father Beran administering a hasty baptism and last rites, as they returned to the village below. Denora hadn't been back since then. Neither had Margerie, who had died scant weeks later.

Now the young midwife drew her robe more tightly around herself, guilt beating its wings about her heart. Several figures were waiting for them near the great hearth. An informal audience, then. She saw Xavier, his steward and a greying man with shrewd eyes whom she did not recognize.

"You wanted to see me, Doctor?" Xavier's voice was low and controlled, and Denora's uneasiness grew. There was anger there, barely held in check. "Your little performance this morning was not enough?"

Denora stared at the Doctor. He had already talked to Xavier--and angered him!

The Doctor drew himself to his full height. "Yes. This village is under attack."

"Ah. The whole village is it now? And whom shall we credit? Are the Burgundians riding through the valley with an army?"

The Doctor looked at him steadily. "No. You would call them . . ." He hesitated momentarily. "Demons."

Xavier stared at the Time Lord as the older man stepped forward, intrigued. "Demons, you say? What manner of demons?"

"They lie." Denora realized she had spoken, voice shaking slightly. All eyes on her now, she continued. "They . . . pretend to be other than they are. They lie--the visions are lies."

Vernon's eyes narrowed. "Who are you?"

"Denora, midwife to Gerant."

"It is our job to determine if the occurrences are true holy visions or no." The stranger looked at her, stern, and she saw the cross around his neck, realized he was a churchman. "All we require of you is to relate what you have seen."

"It's as she said," the Doctor told them. "They're living in the forest on the hill above us and their intentions are not good. They are trying to control villagers by pretending to be holy beings."

"Are you saying these demons attempt to manifest themselves as a holy vision?" the Bishop demanded.

"That's exactly what I'm saying."

"That is blasphemy." Vernon's tone was flat, his eyes steely.

"It is not 'blasphemy'; it's the truth!" the Doctor snapped. "Besides, does not your Bible say that evil can masquerade as something fair?"

His use of 'your' was not lost on Denora, nor the others, she noticed.

The older man shook his head. "Satan may attempt to deceive the faithful, but ultimately he or his agents cannot be mistaken for a holy vision."

"Bishop, I don't have the time to debate theology with you." Denora started. "These aren't holy visions; they're tricks. Someone's trying to manipulate your flock--and given their nature, they could be in this very room and you'd never know it."

At that, everyone glanced around, unnerved. Denora heard several muttered prayers from the guards. One of them reached up to finger the chain around his neck. A ward-amulet, she guessed.

Vernon glanced at Xavier. The lord was staring at the Doctor, uncertain, his irritation at the stranger's disruption warring with concern and caution.

"And how have you come by this knowledge, Doctor?"

The Doctor hesitated a moment, then said, "I saw them there, in the upper meadow, the one place where all of those who have seen 'visions' have been. My guess is that these 'demons' don't dare venture too close to the village."

That was when the Lady Alicia came into sight, white and trembling, clutching at the side of the stairwell as she descended from the solarium. Heedless of the people staring at her, she had eyes only for her husband.

"I saw her! The Merciful Virgin!"

They gaped.

She was half-way across the hall when she noticed the Doctor and Denora. She stopped stock-still, going even paler, if that were possible. Then she pointed and said, in a hoarse, horrible voice, "They are the evil ones! The ones who stole my baby's soul! Mary told me!"

"Oh, dear," the Doctor muttered, his face falling as the guards turned on them, faces gone to steel, surrounding them in a ring of sword points. "I appear to have been wrong about their range of influence."