Disclaimer: Marvel owns the X-Men, Longshot, and the associates of Silver Sable International. I am using them without permission, but at absolutely no profit [just for the joy of story-telling]. Dakota, Yankton, Gloriam, and Sashen'ka are mine and I gave myself permission to use them as I'm so magnanimous. The cat-man belongs to my brother [TemplarWarr@aol.com] and is used with his permission.
Notes: For those of us with comic books dating back a couple of years, the entire Broken Palisades timeline veered off of Marvel continuity around UXM #351 and never quite looked back. This story takes place pre-Psi-War [which truly dates this, huh?].
Feedback is craved and can be sent to: bkittle@creighton.edu
Dedication: For Persephone. For never giving up on me.
Climb That Mountain High
Part Eleven
By: Beverly McIntyre
Pierce and Elba Newman had been married for 25 years. A long 25 years by Pierce's reckoning. As a treat for themselves, or because Elba really wanted to, they had decided to celebrate it with a cruise around the Greek isles. So far, they had enjoyed the historic pleasures of Thera, Crete, and Lesbos. Currently, they were enjoying the scenic Cyprus. There had been some tours offered by the cruise line, but the couple had declined to take any one of those options. They had decided to travel the countryside on their own, experience the local color directly rather than diluted through a tour guide. They had found a scenic grove of pomegranate trees and were now trying to get Pierce's brand new video camera to work. It had worked fine in the store, but now the picture was flashing and jumping around. He slapped the side of the camera in the hopes that it would jiggle something into the right place; the picture cleared up as if nothing had been the matter.
"Elba-dear, move more towards those trees there." Pierce waved her to the left, his silver, anniversary-present Timex flashing into the frame. "Yeah, that's good, dear. Now, how does this damn focus button work?"
"Like a switch, press down one side and it zooms in, the other zooms out," Elba offered helpfully. She pushed her over-sized purse, more like duffel bag to Pierce's mind, onto her hip and tried to pantomime how to do it.
Pierce looked over at her and snorted. Not even on vacation could he avoid getting henpecked. "Okay, I got it. Now wave to the camera."
Elba waved cheerily at the camera, the crow's feet at the corners of her light green eyes deepened as she smiled. Pierce focused on his sun-dappled wife but paused when his shot caught some movement off further into the orchard. He had thought they had been alone. Maybe it was some locals harvesting or something. That would be good footage to show the kids.
Pierce swung his camera out a bit and zoomed in. There was thankfully some light coming from over there. As the view in his eyepiece got unblurry, Pierce nearly dropped his camera. He blinked and adjusted the focus in and out, not quite believing what he was seeing. When his camera settled back into a focused picture, Pierce stared at the scene in front of him in disbelief.
A woman radiating warm light walked beside a pale-skinned man clad in dark, horrifically jagged armor. They moved regally through the orchard as tree branches slowly moved away in their own volition. The woman held gently onto his dark arm as they strolled casually.
"Pierce, I'm over here."
"Sshhhhh." Waving frantically with one arm for Elba to quiet down, Pierce focused the picture more, sharpening the couple strolling in front of him.
Persephone smiled slightly as her husband stopped with a thoughtful look on his face. "Is something awry, milord?"
"Do you not feel it?"
"Feel what, husband?"
"The amount of life," Hades muttered.
Persephone had felt it but had deigned not to mention it. There were no qualms about who was the most powerful between Hades and his two brothers. Zeus was most certainly the most powerful, but there was a brotherly struggle between Poseidon and her husband for the next platform of power.
"My power wanes," he said flatly. "The realm of the dead is . . . losing ground."
Persephone looked up, into his burning eyes. "Worry not, milord. I doubt your brother is faring any better." She looked pained. "Man is strangling life away."
"Uh, Pierce?" Elba sounded slightly worried as a twig snapped on the other side of her husband.
"Quiet," he hissed as he focused more intently on the scene he was capturing.
Hades gently gathered his wife's chin in his hands and gave her a ghostly smile. "Forgive me if I do not share your pain. It is my responsibility to take this grimness and mold it after the veil of living has slipped away."
"Milord is forgiven," she said with a slight smile.
The corners of Hades' lip turned inward slightly, as much of a grimace as he would ever show. "Were it that easy with Demeter, I would fare better."
Persephone laughed lightly and reached for a branch overhead. The branch slowly extended down to aid the goddess. She plucked the fruit from its burdened wood. The branch then slowly went back up into it's former position. "Is that not the eternal problem? Getting along with one's mother-in-law?"
"I should have known the size of my own sister's wrath," he commented idly as he watched the pomegranate ripen in his wife's hands. It slowly reddened in her luminescent hands. When the fruit was at its peak of ripening, Persephone pushed her thumbnail into the skin. The red peel gave way easily under her thumb, as she slowly pulled the fruit apart. The juicy pulp splashed over her hands. Quietly, she offered up the fruit to her lord, the whisper of a mischievous smile gracing her lips.
"Uh, Pierce," Elba interjected, tugging on his shirt sleeve. "Maybe you should stop taping, honey."
Pierce waved her away distractedly and wondered when she had moved over to beside him. Rather than think too long on that, he continued to record. "Quiet, this is good."
A ghostly smile creased Hades' stoic visage as she raised the seed-covered fingertips to his pale lips. Pierce tried to zoom in closer but a growl near his elbow made his blood run cold. Slowly, he turned to the sound. His camera lense was filled with three bloody snouts showing maggot-infested teeth. Shaking slightly, Pierce lowered the camera.
Cerberus snarled thrice over.
Pierce let out a womanly shriek and ran back towards the road. Elba's eyes rolled to the back of her head, and she fainted dead away.
Cerberus stopped snarling and tilted its three heads. It jogged forward and sniffed the unconscious mortal. Deciding she was still alive, it snorted and jogged away. Live flesh tasted foul anyway.
Cecilia Reyes paused outside the plain, wooden door in front of her for a minute. She quickly took stock of her supplies in her black bag. Checking to make sure her stethoscope was still in one piece, she remembered when she'd thought she would never have to use it. The bag and supplies had been a gift from her mother and brother when she had graduated from med school. Her family hadn't been particularly wealthy, so the gift meant a lot to a woman who *had* to put herself through med school because there was no money to spend outside of necessities. She had nearly refused the gift at the time, knowing full well what her brother would have to have been selling to afford it. Now, she was minorly grateful that her pride had relented. However, she had every indication that the man on the other side of the door was not going to be grateful at all.
Giving a light, warning knock, Cecilia swung the door open. "All right, Mr. Worthington, let's make this quick and easy."
Warren Worthington III was pulling himself into a wheelchair as the light from his room filtered into the hallway. He cast a dour glance at the doctor as he finished situating himself in the chair, pulling his legs onto their leg rests. "At least you've learned to knock," he muttered not quite under his breath.
"It only takes me seeing your spindly, blue butt once," Reyes said as she set her black bag on a nearby dresser. She pulled her stethoscope off her neck. "How are you feeling?"
"The same as I felt four hours ago when you last visited: annoyed."
"Are you this easy-going with McCoy?" Reyes asked as she began her cursory inspection of his wings. They had healed rather miraculously after being burned to well done crispy strips. So far, the healing seemed to be complete, but Reyes had her doubts. According to Hank, it was nowhere in Angel's genetic make-up to heal *that* fast. There had to have been some outside force involved somewhere. Hank had suggested Apocalypse and shown her a picture. To her, the picture looked like an over-grown Smurf with Steven Tyler lips.
"No," Angel sighed. "I'm much worse."
The wolfish grin that followed did nothing to hearten Reyes. If she were to fit in with the spandex crowd, which she had no intention of doing, she'd have to get used to this. ~New girl on the block has to put up with this stuff anyway. I did this when I left Chicago for New York; I can do it here.~
"Look, I'm fine. Why do you and Hank have to keep checking up on me?" He sounded exasperated. More than likely that was due to being forced to stay on the ground. After nearly taking Maggott out with his leg casts via a clumsy airborne maneuver, Hank had told his friend to stay on the ground until they were sure his legs were well on their way to healing.
"Considering the nature of your hollow bones, there are complications in healing the break cleanly. Are you feeling any pain?" ~If I had wanted to take care of a parakeet, I would have become a vetrenarian . . .~ she thought dismally. ~At least their squawks wouldn't be as annoying.~
Warren looked down at the doctor crouching near his legs and snorted. Reyes had the sudden hope her patient wasn't telepathic.
Gloriam walked down the hallway trying to get the imagery of thrusting buttocks out from under her eyelids. She decided that next time she breaks into an occupied room, she wanted it to be filled with gangster-types armed to the teeth ready to blow her away in an instant rather than into a room with a man with a very hairy butt having a jolly time with some lady who had equally hairy legs. Doing a full body shudder, Gloriam checked over her shoulder at the virgin goddess who had seen just as much as she had. Maybe more if goddesses have higher sense of perception, Glori thought to herself with another shudder. Ew. Ew. Ick.
Athena just kept blinking like she had been for the past five minutes. Glori wondered if the goddess was going to suddenly snap and break her neck for making divine eyes witness . . . that. Rather than tempt fate, or the Fates if they were back as well, Glori tried to make a little conversation.
"My room's not far now. Just around the bend and two doors down on the left. Or was that right? Well, I remember the room number so it can't be all that bad, right?"
Athena blinked.
"Right. Look, Athena, are you alright?"
Athena blinked again. Before Glori could open her mouth to say something further, the goddess clapped her hand over the half-opened mouth. "Be quiet. I'm almost done."
Glori watched as Athena blinked for about a minute more before gently tugging the powerful hand away from her mouth. "Almost done what?"
Athena blinked once more and then looked at Glori. "Removing the memory from my mind."
"Oh! Could you do that for me, too? I don't think I could stand to see that flabby butt moving up an' down an'-"
Athena gagged and then put a hand over her eyes. "Thank you ever so much, mortal. In a few heartbeats, you have undone what I've been trying to do since leaving that den of iniquity."
"Den of iniquity? It was just two very not-nice looking people having sex."
"It was a married man and his mistress. Be thankful I'm not Hera or you would have to clean them both off the wall with a spoon."
"Ah, that would be bad. Very bad." Glori looked down the hallway and then back at Athena. "So could you rid me of that memory? So I don't have nightmares about it for the rest of my life."
"I could try. If for nothing else than to get you to leave me alone long enough to burn the memory from my own mind." Athena placed a hand over Glori's eyes and paused.
Glori suddenly realized how stupid she was being. This goddess could just vaporize her in a second and she was just standing there going to let her.
"You . . . you are . . . not pure." Athena took her hand away from Glori's face.
"Beg your pardon? My soap is 99.44% pure."
"You are not a virgin."
"Well, duh, what woman at my age is?" Glori looked at the goddess and then realized exactly who she was talking to. "Uh, sorry. My room's this way. C'mon. You can veg out there to get rid of the accursed tryst there." Glori started to walk away. "Heh. Accursed tryst. I kill me."
"Kickyourbuttus."
Glori kept walking until she realized Athena was talking to her. The goddess was using the name Glori had smirkingly used with the lynch mob outside. The mutant woman paused and looked over her shoulder. Athena had not moved to follow. "Huh?"
"Why did you help me?"
Glori stopped and turned around. "Dunno. I think that crowd looked too big. Even for a goddess."
"I would have survived."
"Look, Athena, it's apparent you somehow made it to the 20th century in tact. But I don't think you've been in the 20th century long enough to be able to survive it. And with that reddish guy with dark hair whipping that crowd into a frenzy, I don't think you could have done much except make the situation in all of Athens worse."
Athena's eyes narrowed. "What reddish man with dark hair?"
"The guy in the dark suit towards the back. He had dark hair and reddish skin. Kinda like mine but more red."
"Ares." Athena cursed and did an about-face.
"Whoa. Hold on." Glori rushed the couple of strides and grabbed Athena's arm while her mind said don't do it, you fool. "I did not save your butt from that crowd for you to go traipsing back out there to get said butt kicked from here to New York."
"Unhand me. You do not understand."
"Don't understand what? That you and Ares hate each other? No duh. It's in just about every book on Greek myth."
"Myth? I am not myth."
"Well, obviously not as your standing here in front of me, but to the rest of the world, you are. Even with that excellent TV coverage you got earlier, the rest of the world thinks you're a myth. An object of worship in time so long ago that . . . so long ago that . . . damn. I forgot what I was going to say." Glori shook her free hand in the air. "It doesn't matter what I was going to say anyway. It's just that you're from a time so far out of today's consciousness the only people who believe you actually exist are labeled lunatics."
"Why would people who worship me be considered Artemis' followers?"
Glori sighed and slapped her palm against her own forehead. "Not what I meant."
"What did you mean?"
"Just come with me. I'll explain everything from the semi-safe confines of my hotel room before we skedaddle out of here."
"Skedaddle?"
"Escape," supplied Glori as she tugged Athena down the hallway.
"I do not need to escape. Athens is my home."
"Honey, I'm getting tired of this. We need to get you a reality check and fast."
"But-"
"Hairy butt between hairy legs."
"Ack!" Athena began to blink again.
Glori smirked to herself. At least that had shut her up for a bit. They just needed to get to Glori's room and then get out of here. Athena stiff-leggedly tromped behind Glori as she tried to once again get rid of the image of an adulterous couple in the throws of passion.
The door to her room ended up being around the corner and four doors down on the right. Glori was thankful that she had at least remembered the room number. As she dug around in her pockets, she was thankful that this whole thing would be soon behind her. Glori's face fell as she continued to dig around in her pockets for something that was obviously not there.
"Oh, crap."
"What?" Athena said between blinks.
Glori sighed and gently pounded her head against the door. "The doorkey is in my room. On the corner of the dresser nearest the TV, I believe."
Athena stopped blinking. "I can handle this."
"What? Took care of the memory already?"
"No, but it will give me something to do while you yammer on once we're inside that door. Now, step aside."
Glori stepped aside and sighed. She wondered how much she would be charged for the broken door. Timmoth was not going to be happy with the bill that showed up on his desk for this. Oh no, Glori could see herself doing a month of extra jobs to cover this.
Athena reared her fist back.
"Wait!"
Athena grunted in frustration. "Now what?"
"Sshh! Don't you hear that?"
"Hear what?"
"That sort of high whistling sound. It sounds like it's getting closer."
Athena paused. There was indeed a high-pitched whistling sound. Like something was moving very fast in this direction.
"Why do I have a bad feeling about this?" Glori said as she looked up at the ceiling for some sort of answer. The ceiling remained quiet.
Athena's eyes widened. "Take cover."
Glori looked around. "Where?"
Athena stepped in front of Glori as the building shook around them. Glori fell back against the wall as the wall in front of Athena buckled and snapped open. Timber and plaster smacked into the goddess. Gasping, Glori tried to get to her feet but the building was still shaking.
As suddenly as the building had started shaking, it stopped. Glori waved the plaster dust out of the air in front of her and stood up. "Athena? You okay?"
Glori's answer was cough and a glint of golden armor turning around. "I am fine. However, I think your wall has been in better shape."
"Oh, shit! My room!" Squeezing around the goddess, Glori tried to get into the room through the new opening rent open. She found herself not getting far as Athena had a firm grasp on the back of her pants.
"Wait. It may not be safe for you to enter."
To emphasize the point, somebody coughed on the other side of the opening. Bringing up hands glowing with energy, Glori backed away from the broken wall. A black figure emerged out of the hole, coughing on the plaster dust.
Glori blinked and Athena suddenly had the figure in hand, about ready to pummel him into submission when Glori recognized the blond mullet and black leather. "No! Wait!"
Athena heaved a large sigh."Now what?"
"I know him."
Longshot finished coughing on plaster dust and looked up at Athena. "Hi," he said with a smile. "Can you help my friend? She hit the building pretty hard."
Silver Sable looked up from her paperwork as Douglas Powell hesitantly peeked his head in the office door.
"Ms. Sable, ma'am?"
Silver set down her silver-plated pen and closed the file on Black Horse Inc. she had been working on. Calmly folding her hands on top of the manilla folder, she tried to look non-plussed at the man who hadn't considered knocking on the door. "Yes, Powell?"
"I think there's somethin' on the TV you oughta see, ma'am." Powell stepped into her office and straightened out his sweatsuit a bit.
Silver glanced down at the small, white television built into her desk just below her left elbow. Several heavily muscled men appeared to be cowering in front of a man wearing a lionskin. "What? Is yet another proported journalist dragging my name through the mud?"
"No, ma'am. Not as far as Ah know. But there's this guy claimin' t'be Hercules-"
"Herakles," Silver corrected.
Powell blinked. "Uh, yeah, Herakles. How'd you know?"
Silver reached down and turned up the volume on the small television under her elbow. The commentator was trying his best to describe what was happening with Herakles juggling a few of the World's Strongest Man contestants. The silver-haired mercenary turned the volume back down to its previous almost mute level. "I like to be well aware of competitions that my fellow countrymen are in."
Powell scratched his head. "There's a Symkarian in th' World's Strongest Man competition?"
"Yes, he's-" Silver checked the television, "currently in Herakles' left hand being juggled."
"Shouldn' we go do somethin' about it?"
"Has somebody called it in as a paying job?"
"Uh, no."
"Then there's your answer, Powell." Silver picked up her pen. "Is there anything else?"
"Ms. Sable, Ah know that we have our share of bad PR for whatevah went down in the States, but maybe we should help out there. We are the closest team to Iceland where it's bein' held."
"I wasn't aware you and Sam had switched jobs. I will amend the training schedule accordingly."
"We should do somethin' instead o' sittin' around heah on our butts and watchin' the world go by!"
"Powell, I appreciate your willingness to go out and make Silver Sable International look good again to your home country, but may I remind you that we are not the Avengers. We are the sole source of outside income for the entire country of Symkaria. I cannot afford to go chasing off on do-good missions at the drop of a hat. We are a business, we run like one."
"Ah bet if the ole Herakles was a Hydra agent we wouldn't be havin' this discussion." After he had said that, Powell looked like he let his mouth run off with him.
Silver's blue eyes iced over anyway. "There are special conditions set up for Hydra."
"Ah'm sorry, Silver. It's just that we're the closest team that could do some good an'-"
Silver ignored Powell's attempt at a tone of familiarity. "Actually, we're not. There's a super-powered team in England calling themselves Excalibur. They're closer than we are, and probably more capable of handling it. If they choose not to, I'm sure the Avengers will. Someone calling himself Herakles the Greek god will most likely get Hercules the Avenger's attention."
"But ma'am-"
"If King Stefan tells me to go to Iceland to rescue our fellow countryman, I will go without hesitation. But until then the day runs as usual. Is that understood, Powell?"
Powell sighed, "Yes, ma'am." He started to back out of Silver's office.
Silver flipped open the file folder and began to go over the information again to refamiliarize herself with what she had written before being interrupted. "Good. Get some rest, you have a training session at 5 AM tomorrow."
He paused halfway out the door. "But Ah thought the team didn't have practice til 7 tomorrow."
Silver looked up from the file. "The team doesn't have practice until 7 AM, but you have managed to get yourself a private session at 5. Understood?"
Powell tried to hide his smile behind a frown. "Yes, ma'am."
Silver blinked as Powell closed the door. She would have her Wild Pack's psychiatrist take a look at the pony-tailed Southerner. It was rather odd to be happy about being put through 5 AM hell. Shrugging to herself, Silver went back to working on the file. After five minutes of diligent work, she closed the file, finished with her report. Setting her pen on top of the folder, she casually reached for the silver-plated receiver of her phone. Quietly, she dialed the private number for King Stefan. If need be, Powell's 5 AM session could be pushed off for a day or two.
She had been stumbling around an incline for about fifteen minutes when the riot of colors started to leave her alone. Pushing her hair out of her eyes, Spiral glanced around. Getting her knees firmly under her, she saw she was standing on a ramp up to some ruins. Several incomplete columns were off to her left, one not larger than a foot tall, and one complete column stood amidst its broken and battered brethren, looking resilient amongst the decay of its siblings. Glancing down the ramp, she saw a large dirt path leading away from the temple and down towards a very modern-looking road in the distance. Wobbling down the ramp, Spiral misstepped at the base of the ramp and ended up sprawled in the dust.
Coughing at the plumes of dirt that rose when she hit the ground, Spiral slowly pulled herself up to her knees. She had to rethink her situation. Alone and in the front of some old temple, she was not in an ideal situation to avoid the powerful being hounding the her every step. Hecate had already stripped Spiral of her magical powers, so what else could the magical Titaness be after? When nothing came to mind other than vindictive joy, Spiral had to admit it was a something she herself was prone to do. Keep your enemies guessing. Make them paranoid until they make a mistake. Then slide in with a quiet knife and lead them out of this life. The Mistress of the Wildways knew of no feeling quite as heady as seeing your enemy hopelessly destroyed under your boot heel.
Looking around further, she noted that the ruined temple was obviously set in some mountains. There were some green mountains in the distance. Maybe she could make for those and be given time to think. Without her magical powers, she was severely limited. In fact, all she could really be said to be without them was a six-armed human. Something behind her eyes raged against the thought of being human and so weak. Again.
So, if she could get to the mountains from here . . . then there was the question of how she got here. Rubbing her temples she coaxed the memory of the unrelenting cold back out with a shiver. Hecate had thrown her somewhere desolate. Desolate and white. Like death could be under many circumstances. A cold ache from her bones made her shiver again. But she wasn't dead. There was no Maker in front of her, and no fat slob prancing around to welcome her to Hell.
So how did she-?
Longshot. No, not quite him. Something more powerful wearing a Longshot skin. What had he called himself? No, he hadn't called himself anything; though he had called her "Kali." Spiral looked at her hands.
"I don't even have any of the right tools, the idiot." Looking around to see if anyone had heard her speak and decided to pop out to kill her, Spiral was somewhat disappointed at the lack of reaction. The wind blew and some bushes wiggled a little. Walking over to one of the bushes, she kicked it and remembered a time it would have withered in her presence. But now, she was-Za's Vid! She was going to drive herself insane with all this thinking. Well, insaner. Thinking without plot had never been her strong point. A scheme for a reason and every reason for a scheme. Connecting an arm to the chest for the aesthetics or for the extended handling capabilities. It didn't matter.
Of course, now that she was magically barren, it did matter. The pain would be unbearable if she tried, but that didn't matter as much as the host body rejecting her creation. Graft, tape, put it together. Spin it, slide it, give it a new life. Coat it with magic, hold it together, watch it dance under your fingers.
"Are you quite done?"
The voice behind her, jolted her thoughts into a more linear matter of self-preservation. Whirling on her heel, she faced the imposing figure standing at the top of the ramp, the sun behind him glowing like a nimbus of glory. Spiral glanced around for a weapon to put to hand.
The figure moved down the ramp toward her. "I do not know who you are, but your presence at my earthfall could have been no coincidence. No one plucks a god from his perch so lightly."
"Pretty birdboy lost his perch? My heart screams in sympathy. As soon as your bones rot inside you." Spiral backed away, eyes desperately casting about for anything that could do damage.
"Do not take Apollo so lightly, demon." He continued down the ramp, sunlight glinting off of the golden bow in his hand.
"Demon? Heheheh. I've been called worse. You could try calling me a cross-trader and be closer to the truth."
"You will tell me what has happened to my temple."
"Oh? This temple is yours? It got old, fell over. Those things happen." She crouched and picked up a chunk of masonry as big as her palm.
"They do not happen to my temple. Not at Delphi." He stepped down from the side of the ramp and continued forward, forcing Spiral to back down the hillside.
"Guess that makes you a special kind of delusional, doesn't it?"
"There are no delusions. There is only the truth, and you are hiding it from me."
"I can't hide the plain truth, no magic is that powerful. You can see around you," she gestured with one of her hands. "You don't matter anymore. Your temple is a ruin. Excavated by small-minded humans who like digging in dirt."
"You know why I'm here. You know why I can't return to my home in Olympus." He continued his relentless march toward her.
Spiral tried to keep the curiousity off her face. She knew exactly why he was here, but she didn't know he could not go home. Nor why. Unless something in her ritual was meant to only let energy cross to this plane and not back to the one she had hoped to draw from. With the explosive failure of her experiment and the loss of her mystical powers, there was no way for her to divine the answers, nor any way to give a pleasing answer to the god who wore Longshot's face.
"Look, berk, you've got to work on how you talk to a lady. Especially a lady who doesn't know what you're talking about."
"I am the God of Light. I can bring the light forth in your skull and leaves you a simpering, quivering mass beside my temple. It is here I am strongest on this plane. It is here I will get the truth from you. You have traces of Mount Olympus on you."
"Then why are you here instead of there, if you're so quick to get out of here? Hmm? Though I'll give this place one thing, it'll be here where you're going to learn what Hecate did to you. Though I'm not sure I should tell you, with her hunting me so relentlessly." Spiral's mind was clicking a step or two ahead of where she should have been, but the imminent sense of danger had spurred her into one of her craftier and subtler specialties, weaving lies. Acting the part. Convincing the audience.
Apollo stopped and narrowed his eyes. "Hecate? Tell me."
"What's in it for me, blondie? I tell you, Hecate tortures me before she kills me." To Spiral's mind, that's what was already happening. "I'm such a delicate soul; I wouldn't be able to bear what she could do to me."
The god looked her up and down. "I can already see that you are the most delicate of flowers."
Spiral tried very hard not to snort. Can't convince this fool otherwise. Keep the role. Get him away from me.
He shook his head sadly and crossed his arms in front of his chest, giving himself an imperiousness Longshot never had. "Too bad you are already wilting. Tell me what you know and I'll protect you. Hecate lives only by my father's good graces. His grace won't last forever."
"All I know is I was on Mount Olympus for meditation, since it is a locus of power even today. The ambient energy clears my mind. As a minor practitioner of the Arts, I felt something trying to poke into this universe. When I investigated, a tall woman sheathed in armor made of blackened bone stepped out in front of me. Then the world exploded." Spiral waited quietly. If he bought the lies, maybe he would leave her alone. His face made her stomach roil anyway.
"There is truth in there." He offered his hand to her. "Come, let me off you sanctuary while I hunt Hecate."
She looked at him warily. This would be the perfect chance for him to take advantage of her vulnerability, assuming he knew how vulnerable she was at the moment. Perfect opportunity to strike. She knew it because it's what she would have done. Lull the gully into some semblance of security so they wouldn't see the dagger that was sliding in between her ribs. However, there were no other options left to her. Besides, playing a god off of a Titan was a way to buy more time if not permanently get the Titan out of her hair.
Cautiously, she stepped toward Apollo to take his hand. As she was reaching for his hand, he took two quick steps forward and placed his offered hand on her forehead.
Spiral started to snarl. "What are y-"
Her words died as the world became full of light. She felt it blaze inside of her, pushing back the darkness she had wrapped herself in, releasing old memories to destroy the ones she had created for herself to bury the weak person she was before. Before she had tasted magnificence and never wanted to go back to a plain stuntwoman.
The light gained ground until she started to fight back, buffering the memories she claimed as hers with memories of dreams she had had at one time. Dreams that never came true or had been dashed by reality and megalomaniacs. She bulwarked the memories that would be hers, seen through the eyes of a madwoman bent against the prow of a ship, where a woman died and a star was born. Behind her defenses she drew back the memories that had been shattered by the light and began to quickly piece them together. If they became a irrational jumble of fragments, she didn't care. She had been too far gone for too long, but those memories were hers and would stay that way.
Through the din inside herself Spiral could make out Apollo's voice floating through the raging light.
"Stay on the grounds of my temple and Hecate will not be able to touch you." Then his voice faded beneath the din of Spiral battling herself.
The white winds of Siberia snapped in anger as Hecate glowered down into the crater. Of all the gods Spiral had to run into, why was it the prissy son of light? The temperature around Hecate plunged another few degrees as she sneered and slowly levitated down to the base of the crater. The only stroke of luck had been that it was Apollo and not his twin. If Artemis had teleported Spiral away, the twisted threads of magic would be near impossible to detangle. Artemis fancied herself the most direct rival of Hecate and there was no love lost between the Titaness and the goddess. Both had been manuevering for centuries to have the other meet an untimely end or, more likely, end up in a pocket dimension for awhile. Hecate had always had the upper hand because Artemis was eternally distracted by other concerns like cute and fluffy creatures and her sappy virgins.
But her brother Apollo had always helped his sister when Hecate began to unfurl yet another plot. He apparently did not want to give the night sky over to a Titaness instead of his sister, which made him a thorn in Hecate's side rather than a rival. Luckily, Hecate had the gratitude of the twins' father for teaching the lord of the gods much of his mystical arts. It had saved her neck more times than she cared to count, but she knew she had to succeed soon or Zeus would grow weary of the bickering and side with his progeny as a father was wont to do. Especially against the only Titan not in some sort of torment after the wars.
However, all the schemes, plots, and worries were no excuse for why one mortal troubled her so and managed to escape at every chance presented through uncanny luck. Originally, Hecate was just going to let the elements handle Spiral; the little dimension-hopper was of no real use now that she was a magically-barren husk. However, something had nibbled at the back of the new-found powers Hecate had trapped within her essence. There was something out of her reach and threatening to poison the rest of the magical energy she controlled. It was impossible to pin-point, and Hecate had a feeling her mortal target had tricked her.
Now, she was inside a crater, trying to unravel the threads of teleportation Apollo had twisted with his abrupt departure. It was a common tactic for most any god of value to pull off. Hecate had taught it to Zeus and he had taught it to the rest of the pantheon. His reasoning had been so that no mortal would ever grace Olympus without his say-so. The Titaness thought he did it so no powerful mages got it into their head to try such a feat, especially if that mage had recently had a sexual encounter with one of the gods. Hecate could never understand why a god would consort with mortals let alone have sex with them. To debase oneself so was an admission that you were no longer were better than mortals and didn't deserve the powers a god had.
Hecate's ruminations did not distract her as she tugged and unwound the strands of trace energy left over. She had already discarded three strands as false leads, but the jumble was still formidable. She wondered briefly if Apollo had sensed Hecate nearby and thus had put more attention into his teleportation. The thought was discarded as she pulled another strand loose from the jumble between her hands. Her magic was strong enough to fool any god except the Fates. So, why did he jumble his course so wildly?
Maybe he had mistaken Spiral for someone else. Someone with a modicum of power. Hecate chortled to herself. Unlikely, even a god as low as Apollo could sense that Spiral was not worth the air she breathed anymore. Maybe he had taken Spiral for a romantic jaunt.
Hecate stopped thinking about the whys and wherefores as it was painfully obvious her thoughts were starting to verge on the ludicrous. Gods of Light did not want to spend any time with things that resembled a goddess of death; it pained their "sensibilities." Whatever that meant. Apollo had tried explaining it once, but Hecate was too interested in how the magic flowed between him and his Oracle to pay attention to his rambling speech. When there was a possible weakness to be exploited by means of magic, she would exploit it. Or would have that time had not Artemis caught on and protected her brother.
The strands in Hecate's hands looked more jumbled than when she had started and made a mental note not to think about Artemis when doing something that required more than a little concentration. She was about ready to focus entirely on the magic strands when she heard the sound of something big and heavy moving through the snow near the rim of the crater. Mentally turning herself invisible, she looked up at the rim for what had made that noise. It had come to a rest near the edge, but it still wasn't visible. She felt no magic at play around her, though the wind was still blowing snow around at a fair clip. She reached out with her powers and nudged the winds to a more sedate level. The snow settled as the wind no longer carried it, she saw what had disturbed her. Not magic invisibility, natural camouflage.
Crouched at the lip of the crater was a large man-creature. The creature being a tiger if she was not mistaken; male too if the loincloth was to be taken seriously. He had the head of a tiger and the rest of his body was covered with fur. His feet overlapped the rim of the crater a bit and black claws peeked out from his hirsute yet human-looking feet. He was colored white with black striping and had his arms curled around something against his chest. He was looking around the bottom of the crater and . . . sniffing? Yes, sniffing. He was looking for a scent.
Whatever the cat-man had against his chest must have been an attentive listener because he looked down at it and was obviously talking to it. Hecate cast a small dweomer to enhance her hearing and drown out the ambient noise of the surrounding tundra. The language he was speaking was unfamiliar to Hecate, but another small dweomer took care of that.
"- sure, Sashen'ka? I can't smell anything different."
A hand poked out from his arms and waved something rectangular under his nose. "The GPS read-out says right here. Or are we not standing on the rim of a crater that wasn't here last week?"
"Da, there is a crater, but I don't smell anything out of the ordinary." He looked around the interior of the crater again. "If the Commander is right, we should at least smell something different."
"I can't smell anything but your armpits at the moment, brother."
"It is cold out. Stay where it's warm."
His arms squirmed as if to keep a hold of whatever was in them, but failed as a small brown blur popped out of his embrace. It landed beside him in a small drift of snow.
"Bah! I was dying of heat in there." A woman about half the size of the cat-man straightened up. She had short brown hair and a metal blindfold on. Hecate tried to divine what would possess a mortal to encase their eyes with a shiny metal and found no sane reason coming to mind. The woman was wearing a short brown coat that came only to her waist. From the way the coat puffed around her, Hecate guessed either the woman was almost as broad as she was tall or that there was a lot of animal fur inside the coat to keep her warm. It was the latter as the woman burst free of the snow drift and scrambled down the side the crater.
She came to a rest before Hecate, allowing the Titaness to observe how the metal wrapped around her eyes glinted against the harsh light off the snow. Hecate stood a head taller than this woman as they were now both on the same level, which put her brother several heads taller than the Titaness. Unless Hecate decided to go to full titan size, which would put the cat-man at about a quarter of her size. However, growing to that size would make her invisibility slightly useless, so for now she observed the two interlopers.
Sashen'ka was poking around in the base of the crater, sniffing the air as her brother slid gracefully down the smooth side of the crater. As he came down, Hecate noted the pinkish pads on the bottom of his feet. He was not quite as human as she had given him credit for earlier. Though she was idly amused by his ability to form words in some sort of human tongue with the kind of head he had. She still could not detect any magic from him.
"You're just wasting time, little sister. Whatever created this crater is long gone."
"Not too long," Sashen'ka commented as she dug a handful of snow up and tossed it at her brother. He growled after it splatted on his chest. "Come here. Look here and here. These marks were made within the last day. The ground hasn't completely frozen into shape yet."
"So what can make those kind of tracks? Remnants from some sort of meteor?" He crouched down next to his sister, his tail swishing dangerously close to Hecate's kneecap.
She turned herself intangible so as not to lose her quiet position.
"No, the way the tracks move is not a straight impact and they're too regular to be small pieces. I'd say a human foot caused these. Muscular enough to kick up the frozen soil, too."
"Hmm. So, what do we tell the Commander?" He poked at the tracks with a clawed fingertip.
"Nothing good. Neither of us can smell anything out of the ordinary around-" She sniffed and pounced to her left. She pulled something out of the snow with a triumphant "Ah-ha!"
"What is it?" He sniffed toward it and recoiled slightly.
"Looks like somebody lost some fur lining to their jacket, maybe." Sashen'ka held up the powdered white fur. "Something for the scientists to analyze at least," she shrugged.
Hecate recognized it as part of one of Spiral's boots. If she could get her hands on that, she could track Spiral down without having to untangle Apollo's mess. Well, the time for her to remain hidden from mortal senses was at an end.
The Titaness dropped her invisibility and intangibility. Sashen'ka's eyes widened at the sudden presence of someone in the crater. Her hand reflexively clenched over the bootfur.
"Give me the fur and I will let you live," Hecate said drolly in their tongue. One step closer to her objective and there was little these mortals could do against her.
When the cat-man flipped behind her, she knew these mortals were going to offer what resistence they could. She didn't mind. It would be a splendid chance to test out her newly gained powers.
"Very well. Prepare to enter Hades' realm." Hecate spun in an intricate movement and leveled a blast at the cat-man.
Forge was quite jetlagged by the time he made it into the American Embassy in Tokyo. He was in serious need of coffee, and not the cheap Japanese version of a Starbuck's rip-off he was handed. It tasted like 10 grit sandpaper used on roofing tar. However, there had to have been a caffeine content because the Cheyenne was finding his eyes less prone to take a small rest. He was leaning against a table with a black glass top, with his cup of steaming tar in his non-bionic hand. The conference room was sparsely decorated, but there was an impressionistic painting directly across from him that made his eyes blur more if he stared at it too long. Forge had already stared at it for five minutes when the door next to the painting opened.
When Forge's eyes decided to uncross, a man looking to be in his early forties stood in the doorway, not looking pleased at the vacantness of the room. Forge eyed the man dressed in a conservative brown suit as he set the cup of "coffee" down on the tabletop. The man was of medium hair, had brown hair and nervous steel-blue eyes, and was clasping a file folder against his side.
"Uh, I was told the tactical force to help the Japanese officials was here?"
Not very officious sounding. Forge crossed his arms in front of his chest, knowing that this suit was unprepared to know that the government had just sent Forge alone. "Yep, I'm here."
"I was lead to believe that a tactical force consisted of more than one person. Especially considering the problem at hand."
"I'm quite special and under the employ of the U.S. government. I may not know what exactly the problem at hand may be, but I got here as fast as I could allow. Brief me on what the problem is so I can handle it and move on."
"Uh, maybe we can wait for the others to show up? There are others coming, right?"
"Nope. The government feels the most efficient way for the situation to be handled is by myself. I'd feel that way too if I knew what I was supposed to be doing."
"There must be some mistake," the man brought the file up from his side and shook it at Forge. "This . . . thing has already thwarted everything Japanese law could throw at it. This stand-off has been going on for hours, defeating any conventional methods of flushing the man out. Most everything done has been repelled."
Forge reached for the file, but it was snatched back before he could lay a finger on it. "Has the Japanese military tried anything?"
"Everything short of borrowing a tactical nuke from Russia to blow him out of the factory. They even called in Sunfire, the great national hero, and he was repelled. Word is he felt his fires dim the closer he got." He sighed. "Look, Mr. -?"
"Forge."
"Mr. Forge, this guy has to be some sort of mutant or something. I was hoping maybe the government would point the Avengers this way. I think they're best suited to handling a . . . thing this poweful."
Forge raised an eyebrow and diplomatically bit his tongue. He waited for a breath or two before saying anything. "May I see the file, so I can offer my professional opinion on the situation?"
"And what profession would make you qualified to give your opinion on this matter?" The man's frustration with what he saw as an uncaring government was quickly finding an outlet. Forge had just stepped off of a jet after a nonstop flight to Tokyo. The fact that the jet was one of his creation made it an easier and shorter ride than was conventionally available, but that still did not make Forge less cranky. He was ready to snap back.
"I assume, Mr. -?"
"Geary. Stan Geary."
"I assume, Mr. Geary, that you have heard of X-Factor."
Geary's face darkened. Apparently, the government run mutant team wasn't on Geary's nice list as his answer took a clipped tone. "Yes."
"I lead them. Now, hand me the file and leave me to do my business."
Geary hesitated before slapping the file down into Forge's outstretched hand. He waited a second before turning on his heel and storming out of the conference room. Forge watched him go and waited until the door slammed shut before opening the file. Shaking his head, he glanced through the file. The problem had showed up out of the blue, standing about 15 feet tall and very destructive to the mostly automated assembly line. He didn't speak any language that anybody in Japan knew. He also had been keeping a foreman hostage and was not responding to any negotiation techniques due to the language barrier. He'd also repelled a couple barrages of tear gas and a couple of the local superheroes trying their hand at his removal.
All Forge had to do was contain the situation and possibly get the oversized foreigner to some place secure. Japan had called in an American agent because they had basically run out of options. Forge eyed a grainy surveillance picture of the man of the hour. His face didn't ring any bells.
First thing's first, he'd have to get the hostage free. If he picked up a few supplies off his jet, he'd be set. After all, the Maker could handle just about anything given the time to prepare. He just needed to grab his translator, his crystal paralyzer, and his gravitonic pistol as a back up. Once things were in under control, he promised himself a nap.
The revelers at Carnaval were expecting the best one yet as the preparations came to a close on Friday evening. By Saturday morning, the celebrations kicked off with a bang and the excitement began. The costumes were as bright as ever imagined and as revealing as was personally tantalizing. From women wearing ornate feathered headdresses to men wearing little more than a strategic strap and body paint, it was a world removed from the panic spreading in the Northern Hemisphere. A world that a goddess was enjoying as much as possible.
Aphrodite watched a woman shimmy by wearing a grin, a headdress, and that was about it. She was heading toward a well-muscled man dressed in a yellow sundress and wearing 12-inch platform shoes. Shaking her head against the temptation, she turned to the man wearing the tight pair of bright blue shorts who had been fawning on her since she had arrived in this park.
"Dance, milady?"
"No, my feet are tired from the twelve dances before."
Her companion frowned slightly. "Only nine of those were with me."
Aphrodite leaned closer to him, her dress slipping slightly from her shoulders. She couldn't help but notice the color of expectation rise in his cheeks. "Go away. You bore me."
He looked extremely stricken, which really wasn't a cute expression for him. "But my g-"
"Go. Shoo! Begone!" Aphrodite waved him away. "You'll be late finding your one true love if you continue to hang around in my magnificence."
"But you are-"
Aphrodite laughed and turned back on him. "Do not presume you are up to my standards, little man. There are few mortals who can hold my interest with the sloppy kisses you're prone to give. Now, go drown your sorrows in beer or festivities, but begone nonetheless."
He frowned but backed away, disappearing into the crowd. The goddess shook her head, knowing full well, he'd head straight for a beer garden and get himself enamored by one of the waitresses there on her day off. It was as plain as his entire face had been. If Aphrodite were lower in station, she might have envied the love-to-be. While the man's face had been plain, his body had been extraordinary.
Aphrodite shrugged and waded through the heaving crowd of revelers. She wondered if Dionysus were around. This festival reeked of his trademark. Not that she minded. Any reason to cut loose was fine with her. Especially after being mystically dumped here. So much eyecandy, so few deserving mortals.
She sailed through the crowd, looking for someone to keep her company and extol her virtues for at least the next hour when she felt something familiar pass behind her. Pausing to identify what it was, Aphrodite found a very faint scent that haunted her memories and stirred up her heart. It was like . . . something she had smelled when . . . she couldn't quite place it. She turned about and looked around. Nothing stood out in the joyous mass of people moving about with shouts of happiness. The scent was fading, getting farther away. She shoved her way through the crowd, not paying attention to couples who complained about momentarily being separated.
The scent strengthened as she made it out to a thinner spot in the crowd. It was stronger than when she first had sensed it, making her closer to her target. She glanced around at the people surrounding her. Many more colorful costumes to make her job harder, but she caught sight of a green and yellow jersey disappearing between two women wearing bright red bustiers. The scent was not lingering, so it couldn't be any of the people around here.
Aphrodite paused and stroked her chin. Before chasing after the jersey, the goddess willed her outfit to look like the ensamble before her. Her clothing reshaped and recolored to suit her needs as she sprinted after the retreating jersey. She nearly ran-over her query as she reached the fringe of the party. Two young girls were talking rather animatedly beneath a street light and were quite surprised by a gorgeous blonde woman running up to them. Luckily, Aphrodite's superior reflexes allowed her to look like she was not overshooting her target and look like she meant to stop abruptly.
"Can we help you, ma'am?" The young lady in the green and yellow jersey asked.
Aphrodite looked down at her since she was over a head taller. The young woman had long, dark hair and equally dark eyes. Her facial features were achingly familiar. Memories long since buried by eons but never truly faraway from consciousness caused the goddess to step back a bit.
The other young lady was dressed in a bikini and body paint meant to resemble a peacock's colors. "Hey, are you alright? Do you need to see a doctor or something."
Aphrodite shook her head to dispell the memories of love by a calm glade. "No, no. I'm fine. I was hoping to ask you, young lady," she indicated the one wearing the jersey, "about your costume."
A big grin expanded across her young face. "You like it don't you?" She turned toward her companion. "I *told* you it wasn't bad! Soccer uniforms fit in with this crowd. This lady even likes it."
"A woman wearing a shiny, red bustier is not indicative of taste," the peacocked one grumbled before realizing the goddess could probably hear her. "No offense, ma'am. I'm just growing tired of my friend's overly strong attachment to an old soccer uniform."
"It's not an attachment. It's a family heirloom!"
"One generation of cousins does not make an heirloom!"
Before the two could begin their argument anew, Aphrodite stepped between the young ladies, placing the one dressed in peacock colors behind her. The girl made sounds that she was going to protest so the goddess slipped a little glamor over her weak mind. A simple fascination with a godly posterior could never hurt. Aphrodite ignored the attention suddenly lavished on her backside as she looked down at woman who was barely out of being a girl. "Where did you get such a magnificsent uniform?"
"It was my cousin's. It was Roberto's. He wore it once playing football. He let me have it when he got a better one."
"This Roberto, he was a charming man?" Aphrodite finally pegged down the scent. It had been centuries since the Fates were cruel to her, but now it appeared they were giving her another chance.
"Oh, the most charming. He had a way with the ladies, but his way never got in the way for his devotion to Juliana, God rest her soul." The young woman made some sort of gesture over her brow and chest.
"So this uniform of yours, it belonged to him, right?" Aphrodite gently fingered the sleeve. She could still feel the long ago traces of his warmth. "Incredible," she murmured softly.
"Oh, aye, he was incredible. I was amazed when he let me have this uniform. You see, he was the best. He could have played nationally."
Aphrodite looked up sharply. "Could have?" Not when she had been so close.
"Yes, his heart left the game when Juliana died. It was such a terrible thing." She made that curious gesture again.
"So, your cousin, he still lives?"
"Oh, yes. I got a postcard from him two weeks ago."
"Is he here? Is Roberto here at Carnaval?"
The girl frowned slightly. "No, I don't think he made it this year either. I often wonder how long one can not make it to Carnaval and still call yourself Brazillian. But then again, Roberto is special. He went to this special school up in America. I think he graduated. Probably with honors. I just know he doesn't go to that school anymore."
Aphrodite looked the girl straight in the eye. "Where does Roberto live now?"
The girl's eyes went a little vacant. "The . . . postmark read . . . San Francisco."
Aphrodite smiled. "Thank you, child." She placed her index finger between the young lady's eyes. "Go with love. Find your heart's desire."
The girl nodded and stumbled off. Aphrodite reached behind herself and plucked the pair of hands off her posterior. "Go with your friend. Make sure she doesn't fall in love with a rock or a statue or something."
"Yes, milady." The peacock-colored girl jogged off after her friend.
Aphrodite momentarily thought of sending her son after those two. The information they provided was at least enough for a small boon of love. Ah, but that was a thought for another day. For now she needed to head to this San Francisco place. With a small gesture, Aphrodite left Rio de Jenero with one wistful word on her lips.
"Adonis."
