Walking On Broken Glass
Part Three: Queen To Knight Five
The smell is the first thing that I recall about this place. It's a blend of sulphur and blood – and, oddly, roses, as if the Crimson Dawn is trying to offset its own gore-stained, metallic odour with something a little less… visceral. In direct contrast to that one single touch of softness, the shadowed walls drip with ichor like opened veins, and the light is noticeable only by its near-absence. Across the bridge in front of me, sacs of embryonic life-energy hang behind a large throne made of black granite, upon which sits the object of my search. I can feel him sat there, his back towards me, as I'm sure he can feel my presence too, as well as that of the gaggle of X-Men that I know have been following me since I left the mansion (but who are still some way off yet). The Crimson Dawn never lets go of those it has touched, and we are all connected to each other through it – when I became an Undercloak, however briefly that occurred, I knew the thoughts of all the other Undercloaks as well, to a far greater degree than if I had simply read their minds. Fortunately, it's only when I'm in close proximity to somebody with the mark that the Dawn starts to pull at us, so it's thankfully a rare occurrence at all other times. I walk confidently towards the throne, my stride no less diminished for the hour of trekking I had to do to get here – Chinatown is a big place, easy to get lost in – and judging by the amount of time I had to spend following my instincts, the Dawn likes it that way. When I finally approach the throne, I kneel before it without thinking, the left side of my face burning with a feeling almost like longing; even though my tattoo has disappeared along with my Asian body, I still feel the Dawn tied to my soul – and as such, I am apparently inexorably bound to show my respect to its Proctor, even in a situation like this. I stay knelt at the foot of the throne until the small figure sat upon it says simply "You can get up now, you know."
Feeling the impulse to kneel melt away instantly, like ice on a hot plate, I push myself to my knees and stand, regarding Gomurr the Ancient with a contemplative expression. "You know why I'm here, I suppose," I begin, "so why don't we skip the formalities and get right down to business?"
Gomurr smiles slightly, lacing his fingers together so that the symbols of the Dawn on his hands cast a faint light on his red robes. "I like you, Psylocke. You remind me of me, back when I was Gomurr the Impetuous. Except you're taller, and –"
"Don't start, Gomurr," I say, my tone slow and insistent as my hands begin straying towards the twin katana blades strapped to my shoulders. "Not now."
The little man looks almost disappointed for a second or two, before he shrugs his shoulders and lets his bright expression fade into something a little more serious. "Very well – as you wish. I know why you're here, Miss Braddock, and I know what you're going to ask of me."
"Then you should know why I won't leave here until you give it to me, shouldn't you?" I reply, acidly, before drawing one of my blades and examining its cutting edge in such a way as to make the consequences of not doing as I ask as plain as possible. "Don't make me wait." Running my thumb up the sword's length to test its strength, I feel the cold steel bite hungrily into my flesh and drink eagerly of the thin trickle of blood that spills down over its polished surface. "I need to find my children, and I don't need or want any delays, do you understand me?" The blood drips sporadically off the sword and spatters on the earthen ground, hissing as it does so. Small wisps of crimson vapour rise from the small marks the blood has left on the ground, coalescing as they do so into a collection of smoky tendrils which curl around my legs and rise up my body, swirling almost like a living thing. They flex like claws and then dart for my nostrils, filling my lungs with their acrid odour, and, as I hack and cough to try to clear my throat of their stinging touch, Gomurr does nothing but watch me impassively from his throne.
"I'd have warned you about that," he says flatly, "but I thought you might enjoy a physical demonstration instead." He clears his throat and then sits forward, unfolding a finger towards me like an annoyed schoolteacher. "You should never spill blood around here – not unless you really mean it. The Dawn never stops thirsting for fuel to feed itself." He shrugs, giving me one of his toothy smiles as I spit thick gobbets of bitter-tasting saliva onto the ground in disgust. "It needs to replenish itself from time to time, just like any other living thing. Think of it as a vampire bat for the soul." He hops down off his throne and walks towards me, his hands clasped behind his back, and then gestures towards the pulsing veins of the Dawn, the marks on his palms glowing in time with the scarlet light that washes off the walls. "I can help you find your children, Miss Braddock – the Dawn is good at that – but you cannot face Mortis alone. She'd have you skinned and drained of blood, or worse, before you could blink, if you were to try and face her by yourself. You need some of that back-up that's heading this way, I'm afraid – and more than that, you and your husband need to be together to get the gateway to Mortis' dimension open. Both of you will need to give the Dawn a little of your blood as a sacrament to help it bridge the gap between this world and hers. Here; see for yourself." He takes my hands in his bony fingers, and then presses the glowing tattoos in the centre of his palms firmly against my skin. As he does so, I feel the burning in my face that I felt before, only it's stronger this time, more virulent – but with the pain comes an understanding of what it will take to power a doorway to the place my children are being held. My eyes flicker open and closed rapidly for a minute or so as knowledge that no mortal mind was meant to know floods into my skull, like water smashing through a burst dam. I can taste the iron flavour of blood in my mouth as I bite my tongue involuntarily, and my nose starts to bleed as well, a persistent trickle of blood flowing down over my lips and onto my chin.
The price is worth it, though, and when my vision has cleared I know what I'm facing, and I know that I can't hope to fight it alone. I need Warren beside me, and I need my brother with me, too. I had wanted to keep Brian as far away from this whole situation as possible, since if he weren't with me, then the chances of Mortis getting her claws on all the pieces she needed for her bloody purposes would have been dramatically reduced – but then again, I realise now that a woman able to pick me and my children out of an entire planet's worth of human beings would have little trouble doing the same for my brother. I can only hope that she hasn't done it already, or this is going to be a waste of time.
"You need to contact your brother, Miss Braddock," Gomurr says, clearly having heard my thoughts despite my not consciously transmitting them. Something else to thank the Dawn for, I suppose… "He and his wife will need to know what's happening, or they'll be taken by surprise, just like your children were. And I really don't imagine that that sour-faced old goat Merlin would be too happy to have his golden boy kidnapped, do you?" He waves a hand at a collection of bulbous growths on the wall, which then ooze together into a single, unified mass. The surfaces of the new object are glassy and smooth, and Gomurr gestures at it again. "Here. Use this to contact them – for one thing, it'll be faster than trying to find a payphone around here, and for another, your telepathy isn't exactly built for long-distance communication." He ushers me forward and instructs me to put my hands on the globe's flawless exterior. "Just relax and think of Brian," he assures me solemnly. "It'll do the rest for you."
Taking his word for it, I close my eyes and visualise my brother in my mind. Almost instantly, I feel a subtle sense of power radiating from the orb beneath my fingers, and I sense my mind expanding and unfolding in all directions at once, like an unlocked puzzle box. My telepathy feels as if it's sliding through the shadows that surround Gomurr and me, just as I physically used to when I bore the mark of the Dawn. For a second or so, I feel as if I am weightless, and then I feel a hand reaching out from the ether to touch my mind. When it connects with me, I feel the confused but unmistakable mental imprint of Brian, clawing at my telepathic presence as if he is afraid of what's happening.
Brian? I ask, uncertainly, at which point I can sense Brian calming down almost instantly.
Betsy? Brian replies, his mental tone sounding greatly relieved. How are you doing this? I thought you couldn't reach this far telepathically?
Long story. Let's just say I had a little help, I say, my voice flat. Look, Brian, I'll make this quick: you're in danger, and so is Meggan. My children have been taken by somebody after Braddock family blood, a woman called Lady Mortis, and they're going to come after you and Meggan as well.
Why? Brian's mental voice seems as puzzled by this entire affair as I am – for which I can't really blame him. I still can't understand this whole affair totally, either. What do they need our blood for?
Demonic rituals of ultimate power, threatening all that's good and right in the universe… the usual, I tell him sourly, any black humour that I might otherwise have found in the situation sadly absent. Look, Brian, I'm going to be blunt with you – I need you and Meggan here with me. I need both of you to help to get my children back, because I don't know exactly how hard it's going to be to crack this woman's defences.
How quickly do you want us there, Betsy? Brian asks with barely a pause. I can tell, even at this distance, that an intense anger is beginning to bubble beneath the surface of his mind. Just say the word.
That makes me pause, and, in a telepathic tone that's both small and humble, I say Help me, Brian. Help my children. Get here as soon as you can.
I'll do my best, butterfly, Brian says, his telepathic voice just the same as the time when we were teenagers, just after our parents died. I can almost feel his brotherly embrace again, and it makes me cry against my will, the hot tears spattering on my fingers as our psychic contact is broken. Sniffing back the insistent sorrow, I glance at Gomurr before pointing to one of the lengthy shadows on the wall, a sudden flash of inspiration plucking at my mind in the midst of my pain.
"How far can the shadows take me from here?" I ask, quiet determination reasserting itself in my voice.
"As far as you need them to, Miss Braddock," Gomurr says simply, before giving me another wide smile. "When you're touched by the Dawn, the world is your oyster. Your brother should be rather surprised to see you so quickly, I'd imagine." He steps aside, so that the path to the largest shadow in the room is clear. The darkness is vast, covering fully half the walls, and within its oily black surfaces I can sense pieces of the essences of the Undercloaks that have travelled through it, the fragments calling me like screams in the night. Walking towards it with resolute determination, I stretch out my hand and feel the familiar hard pumping of my heart as my fingers sink into the darkness up to the wrist, almost sucking the rest of my body in behind it as the Dawn's magic finds all the little crevices of my soul and fills them with flowing, liquid blackness. For a moment, it almost feels as if my body has ceased to exist, completely absorbed into the shadows, but then I can feel an end to the journey in sight. Reaching out with hands that have become enveloped in cloying blackness, my alabaster skin gone midnight-dark and crimson veins pulsing hotly in my arms, I tear open a hole in the formless void around me and pull myself out of the shadows before collapsing to my knees in front of my surprised brother, my lungs heaving from the effort of travelling so far so quickly.
"My God, Betsy…" Brian breathes as he kneels beside me, drapes one of my arms around his broad shoulders and gently helps me to rise to my feet. I slip from his strong hands momentarily, my legs feeling like melting rubber, and almost sink back to the floor before Brian catches me deftly and prevents me from falling into a heap at his feet. "What have you done to yourself?"
I cling to Brian for a moment or two, breathing deeply until I feel confident enough to stand by myself. "I did what I had to, Brian," I say, my voice hoarse. I can still feel the shadows coating the inside of my throat, their sour taste filling my mouth and making me feel ill. "I need you with me now – I couldn't wait, not with my children's lives at stake."
Brian nods in understanding, and then guides me towards a chair, where I slump gratefully, my heartbeat starting to slow to something approaching an acceptable speed. "Stay here," he says quietly. "I'll get Meggan."
I grip his sleeve for a moment to stop him leaving. "Thank you, Brian," I whisper. Brian pulls his mouth tight for a moment or two before he nods at me and silently leaves the room, letting me take stock of what this trip has cost me. My hands are shaking, and I can feel sweat at the edges of my hairline. My whole body aches, burning with dull but persistent pain, and I can feel the darkness inside me snarling and pulling at its chains, as if it knows that my resistance to it has been weakened. Glancing at my right hand, I am horrified to see that my nails have been turned the same oily black as the shadows I travelled through to get here, small tendrils of dark energy radiating out from them and trailing up my fingers like cobwebs. Frowning, I concentrate as hard as I can, glaring at my hand as I do so, and the tendrils seem to retreat a little, as if they've realised that their window of opportunity has passed. I know, though, that I am living on a knife-edge here – one misstep, one slip of concentration, and the Dawn will reclaim its most prized Undercloak with the same primal glee as it did the last time I was its slave. And this time, I know that I will not be able to resist its allure – something inside me has burst, and I don't know if I'm strong enough to fix it at this point. Swallowing resolutely, I steel my nerves as best I can, feeling my stomach settle a little, and I begin waiting for Brian and Meggan to return, drumming my fingers against the arms of the chair and biting my lip impatiently. Every second that goes by feels like ten years.
After only a short while, which has felt like aeons, Brian comes back to where I'm sitting, holding Meggan's hand tightly in his own. "Brian told me what happened," Meggan says simply, as she reaches out with her free hand to touch the back of my fingers. "What do you need us to do?"
"Just come back to New York with me," I say, gesturing to the shadow in the corner of the room. "That's how I got here, and that's how I intend to get back. I can take the two of you with me, but you need to try and stay in contact with me all the time. The shadows hate it that way, but it's necessary if you don't want to become lost in them for the rest of your life – which, since time is fairly non-existent in there, will be a very long time indeed. Do you understand me?"
Brian and Meggan nod soberly, and so, satisfied that I have got my point across, I take their hands in mine and walk slowly towards the largest shadow in the room. I hear Meggan's sharp intake of breath as the three of us melt fluidly into the substance of the darkness and end up back inside the non-place that I used to travel here in the first place.
The first thing I notice is that while I am one with the blackness again, my skin turned a depthless black, Brian and Meggan shine like torches on a dark night. They are beacons of light here, and the shadows don't like it one bit. I can feel their anger at that fact that I have brought such alien creatures to them, and they thrash wildly around us, almost as if they are in pain. One of them angrily lashes a formless, pod-like limb at me, trying to make me let go of Brian and Meggan so that they can be hurled headlong into the sides of the tunnel we're travelling through. I manage to keep my grip on them – barely – and we pass by the maddened creature with no further incident, until I am able to find a suitable moment to nod at the side of the tunnel, bisecting the wall and letting the three of us return to reality.
Once more, I'm hit by a wave of tiredness and nausea from the strain of travelling so far in such a short time. My right hand goes cold again, the oily black on my nails creeping quickly back up my fingers as it senses my momentary weakness. This time, it manages to reach up to my mid-forearm before I'm able to force it back to a relatively dormant state, and I can instantly tell that it's going to take a formidable effort of will to keep it contained from here on in. Here, I'm helped by the fact that being closer to the Dawn makes me more physically able to shrug off the darkness inside me (although, paradoxically, the impulse to let go and to surrender to the shadows has also become stronger as a result), but I'm not sure about elsewhere.
I'll cross that bridge when I come to it, I suppose.
Closing my eyes for a moment or two, I take a deep, cleansing breath and try to focus my thoughts on what needs to be done next, and it's then that I sense that Brian, Meggan and I are not alone – Gomurr is here, of course, but there are also multiple thought signatures loitering at the entrance to the giant, sprawling chamber in which we are all stood, and chief among them is Warren. Flanking him are Sam, Bishop, Logan, and Scott – which surprises me a little. Scott, Sam and Logan I can understand, but Bishop is a new one on me, considering he's never really connected with Rebecca on any level; in fact, he's often gone out of his way to avoid her, simply because he doesn't think having a product of Sinister's genetic engineering underneath the mansion's roof is a wise idea. He's called her "a security risk" more than once, too, which I've frequently taken him to task about – so what he's doing here, I'm not sure. In any event, they're still at the entrance to the cavern that houses the Dawn, so they can't see Brian, Meggan or me just yet.
"Stay here," I say, motioning to Brian and Meggan to remain where they are. "I'm going to talk to my husband." Brian and Meggan nod, understanding implicitly why I have to do this by myself.
"All right, Betsy," Brian replies quietly. "We'll be waiting."
It takes me very little time to cover the distance between the cavern's doorway and where Brian, Meggan and I had been standing previously, and when I've done so, I can see that Warren hasn't paused to have his hand properly bandaged up – instead, he's wearing a flexible Shi'Ar-designed cast that has small but potent pain-suppressors built into the wrist section, its advanced techno-organic structure apparently allowing him fairly unrestricted freedom of movement while simultaneously cushioning and supporting the broken bones of his knuckles.
"Hello, Warren," I say, frostily, my hands placed squarely on my hips. "I see you and Logan put your differences aside. How noble of you."
"Come on, Betts, don't do this to me," Warren says, holding both hands out to me in a pleading gesture. "I love Rebecca as much as you do, and so does Logan. Don't you think we'd both concentrate on that right now?"
I raise an eyebrow. "I don't know. What do you think, Sam?"
Sam blink, clearly surprised at being addressed in this fashion. "I think we're all here for one thing, ma'am," he says, soberly, after taking a moment or two to structure his thoughts. "Like Warren said, I think we'd all better concentrate on that for now."
He has a point, I suppose, but I'm not going to let Warren and Logan off the hook that easily. "And what about you, Bishop? Why are you here? You've made no secret of how you feel about Rebecca – why would you bother coming to help her?"
Bishop slides his energy rifle into its holster on his back, folds his scarred arms across his muscular chest and locks his steely, faintly haunted gaze with mine. "I'm here because your husband asked me to come, Elisabeth," he says in his deep, resonant baritone. "He wanted me to give this squad of X-Men some extra tactical backbone." He extends one finger towards me then, in an admonishing gesture. "Don't mistake this for a change of heart – I still don't think keeping Rebecca at the mansion is a good idea, but because she's the daughter of a brother X-Man, I'll do my best to help get her back. Does that answer your question?"
"I suppose so," I reply, flatly, before I turn smartly on one heel and begin walking back to where Brian, Meggan and Gomurr are standing. Before I get very far, though, I feel Scott's strong hand on my shoulder, stopping me from going any further.
"Don't do this, Betsy," he says, his voice almost unreasonably calm despite the urgency of the situation. "Don't shut us out."
I round on Scott angrily, jabbing my index finger in his face. "Why not?" I snarl, fury spilling from my mouth like poison. "All my husband and best friend could do when this started was fight each other like spoiled children. Is that the kind of support you want to give me?" I pause, letting the impact of my words sink in – but before Scott can give voice to the response I can feel brewing in his skull, I say "If that's the case, then I don't need any of you." Even as I speak the words, I'm well-aware that I need Warren, at least, but I also know that this needed to be said. If I can't count on people who I'm supposed to trust with my life – and the lives of my children, as well – then I might as well be alone. It's certainly felt that way sometimes.
A pregnant silence holds sway for a few moments, until Gomurr the Ancient arrives to break it in his own unique way. "Hello, Logan. Long time no see," he says, grinning at his old acquaintance with little regard for the rest of us. Logan simply curls his lip disdainfully and doesn't reply. "Still the same, I see," Gomurr observes. "Not that it matters, anyway…" He turns his attention towards me, and gestures towards where I had left Brian and Meggan. "Your other guests were getting a little restless, Miss Braddock," he says, matter-of-factly, "so I told them that they'd be better off coming here." Sure enough, after a few moments Brian and Meggan show themselves, walking past the twisted, blackened nubs that pepper the interior of the Dawn's home with more than a little trepidation. GomurrHe draws a small sacrificial bowl from his robes, its interior carved with intricate mystical designs, before holding it up for me to see. "I'll need you to drain some of you and your husband's blood in here," he continues, his tone becoming infinitely more serious. Warren's ears prick up at that, and he steps forward, a frown creasing his handsome features.
"I'm not sure I understand," he says bluntly. "Why would you need my blood?"
"The Dawn can help you find your children, Mr Worthington, but it won't do that without getting a little Scooby Snack first," Gomurr says. "It likes blood, so you're going to have to give it blood. Them's the breaks, I'm afraid."
Warren swallows, then nods resignedly, as if he knows not to question Gomurr any further. Certainly, after having given pieces of himself to the Dawn twice before, he should know that the Dawn won't do something for nothing. "All right," he says quietly. "How much do you need?"
"The Dawn will decide how much, Mr Worthington. Pray it doesn't decide to take everything you've got," Gomurr says, before handing him an exquisitely-carved ceremonial dagger. Setting the bowl down on a small boulder before Warren and me, he steps back and waits for us to cut ourselves. I draw one of my katana blades and slice a perfectly straight line along the inside of my palm, wincing a little as the deceptively delicate edge of the sword draws a scarlet line in my skin. That done, I hold my hand upside down over the bowl and wait for the drops of blood from the wound to spatter on the elegantly-carved wooden surface. Warren follows suit, cutting his palm open and letting the blood flow gently into the bowl. Once both of us have done that, the real meat of the ritual seems to begin: Gomurr begins to offer prayers to the Dawn in a language I've never heard before (even when I was an Undercloak), and from the surface of the bowl rise twirling columns of smoke, similar to the ones that encircled me earlier. They make beelines for the wounds on the palms of my husband and me, feeding eagerly on the blood that drips from them. They take and take and take, drawing more blood from the wounds than I'd thought was possible, until they finally withdraw, sated. When they have released me, I can't do anything else but fall against Warren, my legs feeling weak as a newborn kitten's. Warren seems to feel the same way, so we hold tightly onto each other, lending each other what little strength we can muster until we feel able to stand on our own. Warren looks at me with exhausted eyes and says hoarsely "I hope this works."
"Me too," I whisper, my throat dry as sand.
As we stand together, recovering, I see Gomurr finishing his incantations as the Dawn digests the last of the blood it has taken from us. He throws a handful of off-white powder into the veins of the Dawn, and raises his arms as high as they will go. As he does so, a thin sheet of blackness rises from the floor, similar to the shadows I used to teleport through, but infinitely more powerful – I can feel the magical energy radiating off it in waves, and I can tell that the others do as well. The magic is not just the Dawn's energies, but those of somewhere else entirely – presumably the place where Rebecca and Tom are being held.
Only one way to find out, I suppose…
Gripping my husband tightly by the hand, I step into the portal.