Chapter Thirteen: Ancestral Knowledge

"What now?" Scott wondered. Things were always at their worst when Xavier was out of the mansion. But at the times when Xavier was out of the mansion and things seemed calm, Scott was a total wreck. At least now he had something to focus on.

Storm stopped him in the hall just outside Xavier's study.

"Hold." She said

Scott stopped short. "I need to..." He motioned in an efficient manner to the door behind her.

"You need to stop here and compose yourself." She said quietly. "The man you are about to meet demands as much respect as Xavier. And you've no familiarity with him to ease this situation."

Scott pondered her words. He centered himself mentally and let go of any expectations he might have had.

"Better." She smiled as she stepped aside.

He had the distinct feeling that she had just been picking lint off his lapels in an attempt to make him presentable. He eyed her in mild humor and gratitude as he passed in to the room beyond.

Standing before the desk and facing him was a very old man.

The man's skin was deeply tanned and his hair hung long in a braid down his back. His features looked worn. His eyes alone held a deep fire. Scott thought he knew that fire. He saw it in Xavier's eyes when he spoke the truth. Scott had always fancied it a reflection of the light Xavier saw that so many others did not.

"Good evening sir." Scott began. "I'm sorry if I kept you waiting."

"Waiting is a part of what I do." The man smiled slightly and nodded as he took Scott's outstretched hand and shook it.

Scott gestured to the man and rather than take the opposite side of the desk as he had intended, he took the other chair that faced the desk, as to sit with his visitor.

"How can I help you?" Scott asked.

"I don't need any help Mr. Summers."

Scott digested this and let it turn to curiosity.

"Do I need help?" Scott ventured.

The man smiled. "I can't say. I 'm only here to do my job. I'm a Storyteller."

And with his audience of one firmly attentive, the Storyteller began.