A/N ~ Thanks go to Remedy=Chill, UnknownSource, Karaden (new reviewer, yay!), Yma and Yodelbean for their lovely reviews.
Karaden, I'll email you the sketches as soon as I can, but Hotmail is arguing with my computer of late. As for chapters... well, I don't rightly know how many there are, but the entire thing plus epilogues (yes, plural), and Appendix clocks in at 410-ish pages at .10 font size, if that's any help.
Remedy=Chill; the Bayville Demon is a staple of a lot of fanfiction, though I don't know if it was canon. Just goes to show how humour seeps through the subconscious, huh? ^_^
UnknownSource; that would be Shaking Sickness from 'Of Beast and Blade' you're thinking of, which is kind of a cross between pneumonia and pleurisy. The Shivering Sickness found here was Yma's design, and since the symptoms are pretty ambiguous, it could be anything and everything a reader desires it to be. Alvin's no trained doctor, he just picked up things from the Goddess' people. It's unlikely he'd know proper names for things.
Yma and Yodelbean; thanks for the support, guys. I appreciate it. And yeah, Scott did have a few valid points. But like you said, what else do you expect from a multi-authored project?
Any and all fanart from anybody is most certainly welcome, and I shall present it to the other authors should some arrive (hinthintnudgenudge). Have to see about setting up a webpage sometime for the fanart people have given me already. Anybody feels like helping me, I'd be eternally grateful, since I know less than diddly-squat about HTML -_-;;
Reviews will be nurtured like children. Please give them a home with us here.
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Nineteenth Fragment ~ 'Cry'
*******************
Alvin was carefully and methodically preparing a wet rag to place on Robyn's forehead. He folded it into quarters and dipped it into some dirty water. Clean water was too precious to use for cooling, but he made sure it wasn't *too* filthy.
He had always found that doing a simple task perfectly always cleared his mind wonderfully, as well as allowing him to concentrate on other things as he carried out his mindless labour on automatic. At the moment he was composing a prayer to the Goddess.
_Oh, Goddess, protect us in our hour of need,_ he thought fervently. _I'm just human, and the others, for all their special powers - for all they are the saviours foretold in prophecy - are too.
_I can do little for the child but make her more comfortable. I fear that, even if she's not dead by the time we reach the Lands of New Hope, she will be beyond even you. I fear that you will be beyond reach yourself when I return. I fear for Kurt and Daisy, if their little sister is taken from them. I fear for sweet young Hope, that she may never truly know the world if more raiders catch up with us. I fear for Pietro; all he believed in was inconsistency, and now even that has been washed away._ He allowed himself a tight smile at the paradox.
_But also... I fear for myself. I can feel my faith eroding. How is my quest supposed to be blessed with all that's happened? How is..._ He stopped, and then shook his head, dispelling the unwarranted thoughts. _Protect us, Goddess, and guide us toward refuge, gently._
Alvin returned to his plants, and selected some that he could create an anti-pyrrhic with. He didn't make a sound as he began to grind the leaves together in a small bowl.
"How's she doing?" asked Kurt quietly from where he had created a bed out of the benches in the bus.
Alvin grinned broadly, as he always did when the others could see him. He knew that they viewed him as slightly nutty, but harmless and pleasant in his own odd way. He was in no hurry to destroy whatever tenuous link he had with these people. "As well as we have any right to expect," he said with forced cheerfulness.
Kurt nodded invisibly and solemnly in the dark, and watched his sister's laboured breathing through tireless golden eyes. Alvin looked at him for a moment, appraising. Then he returned to his work.
*******************
Jamie Three bit his lip. He could hear Jane crying again. He followed the sounds of her sorrow to one of the bubble-windows on the underside of Asteroid M.
"You shouldn't be here," he said with a sigh. "You *know* it hurts."
"Broken," moaned the small girl. "All broken... I can't reach them."
As gently as he could, Jamie Three picked her up and hugged her, moving slowly but surely away from the window. "You'd only hurt yourself trying to fix them all," he said. "You're too weak already."
"... But I can *feel* them..."
He sighed, putting her down and taking her hand. The argument was an old one. "Come on. Two's got a batch of his famous casserole cooking up. You like the casserole, remember? The meat's all vat-grown and can't feel, you said. Beef without cows?"
Jane nodded, but her eyes stayed fixed on the window.
"Come on." Jamie Three led her a little bit faster, "The stronger you are, the sooner Erik's going to let you heal more of us. More friends. And you gotta eat to get strong."
Jane just nodded, smiling a little. It was a frail smile, and rare, but the Jamies would do just about anything to see such smiles on her face.
He'd seen her when Erik had bought her in. A scared, silent and wounded little creature, blood oozing from eyes, ears, nose, mouth and all her nails. Erik had said she'd overstrained herself, and put her in the regen-chamber to help her heal.
It had taken a month before she actually said anything beyond 'broken' or 'fix', and then it had been the word 'pretty'.
Jamie One had shown her a mirror.
He'd adopted her, kind-of, making himselves her honorary big brothers. He made it his business to help her get better. So did Brian[1], but Jamie liked to think he was better at it. After all, he'd been out of stasis longer than the British man.
It was slow work, but she was speaking in complete sentences most of the time. She only reverted to disjoined words when anxious or scared.
Poor little sister.
*******************
Poor little sister.
Alvin had gone off somewhere, presumably to talk to one of the others outside. Kurt held Robyn close, deliberately purring into her ear to keep her calm and happy. It was all he could do, and it didn't stop the 'ifs' jabbing at him at every moment.
If he hadn't let them keep the dog.
If he'd known about the sickness.
If he'd stopped the creature licking them and tainting her lips with sickness-filled saliva.
If he'd *told* her that puppy-kisses weren't clean.
If... If... If...
*******************
"Knockedoverafewstores. Foundachemists," Pietro offered. He had a sack over one shoulder and an armload of boxes. "SomeofthisstuffmightworkonRobyn..."
"Thank you, Pie-Pie," said Mystique. She actually knew some medicine as a matter of survival. Blue mutants couldn't get medical help from just anywhere, and her shapeshifting tended to fritz when she was ill.
She sorted through the boxes. _Will help. Won't help. Might help. Last resort..._ "This is very useful."
"Really? I'mgonnagogetmorethen." {Zwip} He still couldn't really stand being near her, whatever truce he'd come to with Kurt, but the fact that he was talking to her without the words 'I hate you' in the sentence was a good sign.
And then Todd was there. "Hey, Boss Lady."
_Is she going to join you?_ Mystique thought at him, not taking her eyes from the medicines.
"I don't think so. God Boy knows his stuff. You know medicine plus mutant metabolisms... Pie-Pie's gettin' faster, yo... Between all o' ya, she could make it."
_Could,_ she thought. _Not good enough. I want 'will'._
"You're gettin' good at this whole carin' thing, yo. I'm startin' to think you'd make a good Mom."
"Can't be any worse than your old ones," she muttered.
"What?" Nearby, Lance looked up, startled by her sudden words.
"Nothing," she said with a wave of her hand. "Just thinking aloud."
"Mmm..." Lance went back to his knitting. Alvin sat near him, showing the erstwhile thuggish mutant how to finish a row without breaking the thin, threadbare wool. The irony of it completely bypassed both of them, but Kitty wore a small smile at the click-click-clicking needles.
Mystique gathered up all the medicine that would definitely help and stood just inside the door of the bus, calling to her son. "How fast is her metabolism?" she asked.
"I... I don't know," Kurt admitted. "I think it's fast. Fast for most humans, at any rate. But not as fast as mine. I wish I could help more..." He wrung his hands, and then his tail, twisting the tip in a way that could not have been comfortable.
"Don't worry," his mother soothed. "We've got all these medicines. With so much, hopefully *something* in here will help."
Kurt nodded. Mystique smiled weakly, and plonked the box down before leaving again to wait for Pietro. Then, quietly, the elf began to do something he had not done in a very long time.
He began to pray.
He couldn't say exactly when he had stopped praying to God. It had just petered out over a long period of time, when he had become more concerned with keeping himself alive and sane than relying on any higher power to do it for him. Sure, he'd shouted at Him, implored Him - even had the odd argument with an empty sky. Yet somehow, the action of actually, consciously praying was one he just didn't do anymore.
He remembered once trying to explain the concept to Robyn. She hadn't understood.
"But Kurti," she'd said, "If there was this good God, why did he let all this bad stuff happen?"
"I don't know, Liebling," Kurt had replied, "Perhaps it's a kind of test, to find out how far we've come. Like Jesus' tests in the desert. You remember that story, ja?"
"Seems a pretty mean test to me," she'd said thoughtfully. "If I were God, I wouldn't do anything like this."
Kurt had sighed and given up the argument. It seemed like there was little to hold faith in these days. In that way, he sympathised and understood Pietro.
Now, however, faith seemed to be all he had. There seemed to be nothing he could do to help his little sister. Only pray, and hope that there was some God up there, and that He could do something - anything - to save Robyn.
And, in turn, save him.
*******************
Pietro was a blur against the barren wasteland. Running quickly, it only took him two minutes to reach the chemist store in the abandoned town, 45 miles away.
He rooted thought the various pills and condiments, seeing names that resembled his talking in fast-speech, such as poloypropalanediomticicacilidate. A mouthful, and no mistake.
He randomly grabbed a load, and was still scanning shelves when a voice behind him said, "Turn around. Slowly now, stranger."
He froze, and swivelled lightly on one foot to see a teenager, no more than about sixteen if he was a day. The brown, floppy hair was in dire need of a cut, but looked rather adorable in a childish kind of way. Not so the sword in his hand. A sword pointing at Pietro.
"Who are you, and what's your business here?" the boy demanded without preamble.
"I could ask the same of you," Pietro replied. Usually he would have been off like a shot, but some idiotic part of him was curious. The boy was alone and only armed with a single weapon that didn't have much of a radius. With his speed, what harm would a little knife like that do?
"I," said the boy, "am a scout and garrison of Mutie Town. I'm wandering these lands, looking for rogues and trespassers in our territory. You're stealing from a shop that falls within our boundaries, and are thus stealing our property. As such, I demand you identify yourself and come with me."
"Pretty big boundaries. I never saw any other towns hereabouts." Pietro felt a little less confident. Anyone coming from a place called 'Mutie Town' would invariably be a mutant. You didn't go flagging up towns like that just for fun in times like this. Who knew what sort of powers this kid possessed? Appearances could be deceiving, as he well knew.
On the other hand, he might be more likely to be friendly to Pietro, as a fellow mutant, so perhaps it would be wise to play along for a bit. Leastways until he figured out what he was truly dealing with here.
"The name's Pietro Maximoff. I'm a mutant. I'm here collecting medicine. One of my... uh, friends - who's also a mutant - is sick, and needs help. You got a problem with that?"
"..." gasped the scout. "Maximoff? You mean you're Windswift? Son of... of Erik Lenscherr? Of the Mighty Magneto?"
Blink, blink. _How the hell..._ "Er... well... kinda..."
The boy fell onto his knees. "Oh mighty Windswift! May I, a humble solider, take this moment to humbly greet you to our humble lands."
"Um... right. That's nice. Lotta humble. AndnowIgottabegoing."
"No! You can't go! I've got to take you back with me; you have to come back to Mutie Town to meet your people. Even," he spread his feet in a doubtless fighting posture, "if I have to make you."
Pietro arched an eyebrow. "Yeah? You and what army?"
"This one."
Abruptly, the boy ran over and purposefully banged his head against the wall. Once, twice, three times - and each time he did, another one of him appeared. He doubled each time he hit himself. Soon Pietro was surrounded by lots of brown haired boys with swords.
"Aw, shit!" He looked around the circle, playing for time in the hopes a flash of inspiration would come to him this time and not stupidity. "Uh... how did..."
"I wasn't given the codename 'Multiple' for nothing. Real name's Jamie, though. And now you have to come with me." He broke off to chuckle happily. "Oh man, this is *great*! First one, then the other. Both brother and sister arriving at once - "
"Excuse me? My... sister?" What did this character know of Robyn?
"Uh-huh. Rumours amongst the scouts are that the fabled Wanda Maximoff herself has made an appearance in these lands, and even now is at our beautiful town; a haven for all mutants, built in the name of the Master of Magnetism. It's your legacy. That's why you have to come with me." [2]
{DOING}
Now Pietro was caught. On the one hand Robyn, his adopted little sister, needed these medicines. On the other, if his sister - his *real* sister - was alive, and he had a chance of seeing her again...
One or the other.
It was a difficult decision.
_I've got two roads to walk down, and one road to choose[3]... so which one am I gonna?_
*******************
Seer entered through the back door, and Ororo spoke before he'd even finished walking the passage to the room in which she sat.
"Any news today?" she asked.
"None," he sighed.
"How many days since the last wanderer returned?"
"28 today, m'Lady."
"And the weather is holding?"
"Quite well."
"Have you made any headway on your prophecies?"
"No." Seer looked down for a moment. "But I - " He rounded the back of her chair and goggled. "Goddess?"
Ororo was suddenly vanished from where she'd been, and seated in her customary chair was a small man with quick, darting purple eyes.
Seer's own eyes narrowed, and he hissed on instinct. Where had Ororo gone? "Who are you?" the gargoyle-like mutant raged, flexing his claws in what he knew was a threatening gesture.
"Seer," said the man, ignoring the question. "One of your men shall return to you within six days' time. He escorts seven that you seek, and three children of the future. Another of the Blessed moves towards you even now. She has no business in your Paradise, and shall die ere she travel that way again. The one seen, but not foreseen, shall join the seven. He will bring great wealth to your land, and save your Goddess' paradise when she can no longer do so."
"I... don't understand," Seer faltered. He had the sudden feeling that he knew this man, though he was certain he'd never laid eyes upon him before in his life. "Who are you? Where are you from? What've you done with the Goddess?"
"Don't always trust what your eyes tell you."
"Is this a Vision, then?"
He didn't answer. "I am Scry. All the elements shall clash in front of my House. Time will go on. You must be ready."
"But - "
"You must be ready!" The man rose, giving emphasis to his words. "Your Goddess shall be saved for a time, but the Blessed Ones are waylaid with healing for the child. She quivers, but neither in fear nor anger. Your man is using all his skill, but he does not carry the healing herbs. You must make haste, and ready yourselves for their arrival." He pointed to the air above them. "From there shall they come, borne on the might of one who would seek to destroy them. But first, the child."
"Which child?" Seer demanded. "One of ours? What ails this child you talk of?"
"What child?" Ororo asked.
Seer blinked, the Vision fading out and returning to the familiar room and equally familiar inhabitant. Ororo peered at him, and suddenly all the strength went out of his limbs. He sank to the floor.
"M'lady... I Saw..."
*******************
"Hey!" A voice cut through Scry's semi-consciousness. "It's just a nightmare. Wake up!"
He sat up in bed, slightly bewildered at the sudden change in altitude and a lot confused. As the room came slowly into focus, Grasshopper's fathomless eyes peered at him with the closest to concern the winged mutant ever showed. He was dressed in the same clothes as always, since he never changed for bed, and even when he did retire, he rarely slept. Yet another facet of his mutation, and one that meant he often wandered the darkened streets at night, making sure all was well and flitting to windows when it appeared not so.
"Not a nightmare," Scry panted, blinking deep purple eyes. "A Vision."
{PING} All business in an instant. "What did you see?"
"I saw a monster. A mutant. A man. I told him all I knew of the Blessed Ones." Scry paused, remembering. "He told me his Goddess is in desperate need of healing, and asked me to send them to her. They must be there within a week. It's very important."
"Why?"
Scry shook his head. "He said the Lady would return with another. She won't survive the visit. The one travelling with her must join the others to see the Goddess."
Grasshopper frowned. "I don't get it."
Scry leaped out of bed. "You don't have to. Just be ready."
"Be ready?" The insectoid mutant followed him out. "Ready for what? *Scry*! Scry, hold it. Scry, as leader, I *order* you to tell me what the *hell* you're talking about!"
Scry whirled around, but instead of the anger Grasshopper was expecting, the small man's face was creased into what could only be described as intense sadness; like he was mourning for someone Grasshopper hadn't even known had died. The few remaining locks of greasy brown hair sprouting from the back of Scry's head were damp with sweat, and he ran an agitated hand through them.
Grasshopper took a tentative step forward. Comfort had never been his forte. He was a tactician, and had leadership and survival qualities coming out of the tiny holes that passed for ears. Emotions were more Jubilee's area of expertise.
Or had been, at any rate.
On impulse, he glanced out of the window to his right. The glass was broken, and a filthy rag fluttered as a makeshift curtain, all but obscuring the broken little bundle wrapped in cloth on the other side. The fabric was darker in places where the blood had dried, and there was a frail element about it she'd never possessed in life. Not even when she first came here from the brothel, all those months ago.
"Look, Scry, is it about Jubilee? I know you two were close, but we simply can't spare the manpower to bury her until morning - "
"It's not about that!" Scry snapped, tone belying his expression. He and Jubilee had indeed been close, despite their age difference. Though not physical lovers, they had been as close as that in a spiritual sense. Her sudden death had hit him hard. He'd expected her to outlive him, maybe even to someday bear his children. Now all those hopes were shattered, and it spoke volumes for his strength of character that he was picking himself up and carrying on.
After all, in Mutie Town there was rarely any time for grief. Defence and keeping raiders at bay ate it all up, as did caring for those poor unfortunate souls[4] who stumbled in here from the wastelands.
Grasshopper blinked. "Then what - "
"They're coming," Scry intoned gravely. "He told me. I had a vision of the Goddess' village. There's a mutant there. Someone who Sees things like I do. He was the one who gave the prophecies the wanderers carry around in their books. We exchanged our tales - though it seemed we were only listening to the other speak - and he warned me of their coming hence."
"Who?" Despite himself, Grasshopper was intrigued. He reminded himself that Mutie Town had to be fortified against any newcomers, lest they be hostile. Back in the beginning, when all this started four years ago, his small hamlet of a home had been ripped to shreds by those they'd trusted and led into their midst when they came stumbling out of the mist, asking for shelter. Like leading slaughterers right into the flock.
Well, not this time. Not if he could help it.
"Seven of them, plus three he - we - had not foreseen. A preacher leads them, and loses his faith with every step. One follows them with another. It is... it is *she*. The *One* who stole... who stole..." His eyes went wide with shock at a meaning only he understood, and Scry promptly fainted straight into his leader's arms.
Grasshopper swore under his breath. "Crap, this is *all* I need. What gibberish are you spouting now, old friend? And what in blue blazes does it mean for us?"
*******************
"Kurti..."
Kurt sprang up and crouched next to his little sister's side. "Ja, Liebling. What is it?"
Robyn said nothing for a moment, and her breath rasped in her throat. She sounded many times worse than she had a mere hour ago, and her fur, which had only been damp before, was now soaked with sweat until the perspiration dripped off her and onto the floor of the bus. She sat, huddled in her seat with her forehead pressed against the cool glass of the window. Her eyes were closed.
She looked, to summarize, like death warmed up.
Kurt swallowed nervously. "Robyn?"
She coughed again, and shivered like someone was walking across her grave. "Kurti... I can h... hear her..."
"Who, poppet? Who can you hear?"
"C... Cl... Clive.... she's crying."
Kurt suppressed a growl. He was an animal lover, by nature, but was fast developing something akin to hatred for the little pup that was threatening to take his Liebling from him. His sadness had channelled itself into anger, and the pup was bearing the brunt of it.
Outside, tied to the door of the bus by a length of cord wrapped around a long stick so that she couldn't get back in, Clive whimpered, and let loose a mournful howl that might have turned Kurt, could he not see Robyn's condition playing out before him.
"K... Kurti?"
"Clive's fine, liebe," he soothed, running a hand over her cheek that came away slick with sweat. "She's just... missing you, is all."
That elicited a small smile. "S'nice. I like Clive, K... Kurti... She's all soft an'...an' warm like you, o... o... only not as ho... ::cough:: ... hot..." Her speech slowed and slurred a little, and Kurt's ears pricked up immediately.
"Robyn? Robyn, are you okay? How are you feeling?"
She shouldered his touch away, but her movements were slow, and her breath hitched in her gullet like a choking seagull. "S'too hot, Kurti... wan... wanna... slee... sleee... sleeeeeeeeeee..." She trailed off, and her head flopped forward to bounce against the glass.
Out of the corner of his eye, Kurt noticed her tail suddenly go limp.
"Alvin!" he called desperately, fearing something was terribly wrong. "*Alvin*!"
A thundering of flappy footsteps behind him signalled the wanderer's arrival. "What is it, Blessed One?"
"She's not moving her tail. Even when she's deep asleep, her tail always moves. *Always*!"
Robyn did not move, and the breath rattled in her chest. Alvin crouched down beside her, lifted the bottom of her shirt to her throat, and placed his ear flush to her chest. The breath crackled in her lungs, and her heartbeat faltered. He leaned back and replaced her shirt. When he took her pulse, both at her neck and her wrist, it was thready.
"How much cold water do we have?" he asked quietly.
"Cold? Almost none," Kurt anxiously replied. They had nothing to keep water cold *with*. Dammit, where was Pietro with that medicine? "Why?"
Alvin leaned back on his heels. "Apart from putting her in a large bath of cold water, there's really nothing we can do. I ... ah, I wish there was something..."
"Nothing?" Kurt exclaimed, looking appalled.
Alvin closed his eyes and massaged the spot between them. "She's in pain, and it's only going to get worse. The sickness is much *much* quicker than I ever anticipated. One of my plants... it's an opiate. If you want - if you think it's best, I can make up a sedative quickly. I have enough to..." he trailed off deliberately, unable to think of something diplomatic to say.
Kurt's eyes went wide. "You want to *kill* her?" His voice rose to a hoarse scream.
Balling up a fist, he hit Alvin. Then, lifting Robyn in both hands, 'ported away, leaving the man sprawled gracelessly on the floor.
*******************
Some time later, Logan found Kurt in a stagnant pond a good distance from where the bus was parked. It was freezing. Kurt was on his knees, cradling Robyn in the shallows and still panting from the long-passed teleport.
Logan waded up to him silently. "Elf," he said, touching him on the shoulder.
Kurt said nothing.
Logan crouched in the water beside Robyn, and took her from the elf. Kurt did not resist. Logan could hear him breathing, but not Robyn. He didn't look at the former when he said, "She's dead, Kurt."
"I know," Kurt whispered quietly, "but I didn't know what else to do, because Alvin said to keep her cool, and the water was cool, so I took her here, but she was so feverish, and I couldn't do anything but keep her here in the water, and there wasn't anything else I knew to do, and I couldn't... couldn't..."
Logan said nothing, but easily lifted both of them out of the water. He held Robyn's body in one arm, and left the other around Kurt's shoulder. The elf leaned on him shakily, and they started to walk back to the bus.
Kurt didn't cry. Not even a single teardrop or sniffle.
His Liebling was gone. It didn't matter what he did anymore.
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To Be Continued...
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[1] As in Braddock. Otherwise known as Captain Britain, before the war sent him as an injured into one of Maggie's stasis tubes.
[2] Jamie's been out on patrol this whole time, and with communication the way it is, it stands to reason he wouldn't yet know of Wanda's exploits in Mutie Town, even if he did hear the rumours from the other scouts of her being there.
[3] From _Thinking It Over_ by Dana Glover.
Karaden, I'll email you the sketches as soon as I can, but Hotmail is arguing with my computer of late. As for chapters... well, I don't rightly know how many there are, but the entire thing plus epilogues (yes, plural), and Appendix clocks in at 410-ish pages at .10 font size, if that's any help.
Remedy=Chill; the Bayville Demon is a staple of a lot of fanfiction, though I don't know if it was canon. Just goes to show how humour seeps through the subconscious, huh? ^_^
UnknownSource; that would be Shaking Sickness from 'Of Beast and Blade' you're thinking of, which is kind of a cross between pneumonia and pleurisy. The Shivering Sickness found here was Yma's design, and since the symptoms are pretty ambiguous, it could be anything and everything a reader desires it to be. Alvin's no trained doctor, he just picked up things from the Goddess' people. It's unlikely he'd know proper names for things.
Yma and Yodelbean; thanks for the support, guys. I appreciate it. And yeah, Scott did have a few valid points. But like you said, what else do you expect from a multi-authored project?
Any and all fanart from anybody is most certainly welcome, and I shall present it to the other authors should some arrive (hinthintnudgenudge). Have to see about setting up a webpage sometime for the fanart people have given me already. Anybody feels like helping me, I'd be eternally grateful, since I know less than diddly-squat about HTML -_-;;
Reviews will be nurtured like children. Please give them a home with us here.
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Nineteenth Fragment ~ 'Cry'
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Alvin was carefully and methodically preparing a wet rag to place on Robyn's forehead. He folded it into quarters and dipped it into some dirty water. Clean water was too precious to use for cooling, but he made sure it wasn't *too* filthy.
He had always found that doing a simple task perfectly always cleared his mind wonderfully, as well as allowing him to concentrate on other things as he carried out his mindless labour on automatic. At the moment he was composing a prayer to the Goddess.
_Oh, Goddess, protect us in our hour of need,_ he thought fervently. _I'm just human, and the others, for all their special powers - for all they are the saviours foretold in prophecy - are too.
_I can do little for the child but make her more comfortable. I fear that, even if she's not dead by the time we reach the Lands of New Hope, she will be beyond even you. I fear that you will be beyond reach yourself when I return. I fear for Kurt and Daisy, if their little sister is taken from them. I fear for sweet young Hope, that she may never truly know the world if more raiders catch up with us. I fear for Pietro; all he believed in was inconsistency, and now even that has been washed away._ He allowed himself a tight smile at the paradox.
_But also... I fear for myself. I can feel my faith eroding. How is my quest supposed to be blessed with all that's happened? How is..._ He stopped, and then shook his head, dispelling the unwarranted thoughts. _Protect us, Goddess, and guide us toward refuge, gently._
Alvin returned to his plants, and selected some that he could create an anti-pyrrhic with. He didn't make a sound as he began to grind the leaves together in a small bowl.
"How's she doing?" asked Kurt quietly from where he had created a bed out of the benches in the bus.
Alvin grinned broadly, as he always did when the others could see him. He knew that they viewed him as slightly nutty, but harmless and pleasant in his own odd way. He was in no hurry to destroy whatever tenuous link he had with these people. "As well as we have any right to expect," he said with forced cheerfulness.
Kurt nodded invisibly and solemnly in the dark, and watched his sister's laboured breathing through tireless golden eyes. Alvin looked at him for a moment, appraising. Then he returned to his work.
*******************
Jamie Three bit his lip. He could hear Jane crying again. He followed the sounds of her sorrow to one of the bubble-windows on the underside of Asteroid M.
"You shouldn't be here," he said with a sigh. "You *know* it hurts."
"Broken," moaned the small girl. "All broken... I can't reach them."
As gently as he could, Jamie Three picked her up and hugged her, moving slowly but surely away from the window. "You'd only hurt yourself trying to fix them all," he said. "You're too weak already."
"... But I can *feel* them..."
He sighed, putting her down and taking her hand. The argument was an old one. "Come on. Two's got a batch of his famous casserole cooking up. You like the casserole, remember? The meat's all vat-grown and can't feel, you said. Beef without cows?"
Jane nodded, but her eyes stayed fixed on the window.
"Come on." Jamie Three led her a little bit faster, "The stronger you are, the sooner Erik's going to let you heal more of us. More friends. And you gotta eat to get strong."
Jane just nodded, smiling a little. It was a frail smile, and rare, but the Jamies would do just about anything to see such smiles on her face.
He'd seen her when Erik had bought her in. A scared, silent and wounded little creature, blood oozing from eyes, ears, nose, mouth and all her nails. Erik had said she'd overstrained herself, and put her in the regen-chamber to help her heal.
It had taken a month before she actually said anything beyond 'broken' or 'fix', and then it had been the word 'pretty'.
Jamie One had shown her a mirror.
He'd adopted her, kind-of, making himselves her honorary big brothers. He made it his business to help her get better. So did Brian[1], but Jamie liked to think he was better at it. After all, he'd been out of stasis longer than the British man.
It was slow work, but she was speaking in complete sentences most of the time. She only reverted to disjoined words when anxious or scared.
Poor little sister.
*******************
Poor little sister.
Alvin had gone off somewhere, presumably to talk to one of the others outside. Kurt held Robyn close, deliberately purring into her ear to keep her calm and happy. It was all he could do, and it didn't stop the 'ifs' jabbing at him at every moment.
If he hadn't let them keep the dog.
If he'd known about the sickness.
If he'd stopped the creature licking them and tainting her lips with sickness-filled saliva.
If he'd *told* her that puppy-kisses weren't clean.
If... If... If...
*******************
"Knockedoverafewstores. Foundachemists," Pietro offered. He had a sack over one shoulder and an armload of boxes. "SomeofthisstuffmightworkonRobyn..."
"Thank you, Pie-Pie," said Mystique. She actually knew some medicine as a matter of survival. Blue mutants couldn't get medical help from just anywhere, and her shapeshifting tended to fritz when she was ill.
She sorted through the boxes. _Will help. Won't help. Might help. Last resort..._ "This is very useful."
"Really? I'mgonnagogetmorethen." {Zwip} He still couldn't really stand being near her, whatever truce he'd come to with Kurt, but the fact that he was talking to her without the words 'I hate you' in the sentence was a good sign.
And then Todd was there. "Hey, Boss Lady."
_Is she going to join you?_ Mystique thought at him, not taking her eyes from the medicines.
"I don't think so. God Boy knows his stuff. You know medicine plus mutant metabolisms... Pie-Pie's gettin' faster, yo... Between all o' ya, she could make it."
_Could,_ she thought. _Not good enough. I want 'will'._
"You're gettin' good at this whole carin' thing, yo. I'm startin' to think you'd make a good Mom."
"Can't be any worse than your old ones," she muttered.
"What?" Nearby, Lance looked up, startled by her sudden words.
"Nothing," she said with a wave of her hand. "Just thinking aloud."
"Mmm..." Lance went back to his knitting. Alvin sat near him, showing the erstwhile thuggish mutant how to finish a row without breaking the thin, threadbare wool. The irony of it completely bypassed both of them, but Kitty wore a small smile at the click-click-clicking needles.
Mystique gathered up all the medicine that would definitely help and stood just inside the door of the bus, calling to her son. "How fast is her metabolism?" she asked.
"I... I don't know," Kurt admitted. "I think it's fast. Fast for most humans, at any rate. But not as fast as mine. I wish I could help more..." He wrung his hands, and then his tail, twisting the tip in a way that could not have been comfortable.
"Don't worry," his mother soothed. "We've got all these medicines. With so much, hopefully *something* in here will help."
Kurt nodded. Mystique smiled weakly, and plonked the box down before leaving again to wait for Pietro. Then, quietly, the elf began to do something he had not done in a very long time.
He began to pray.
He couldn't say exactly when he had stopped praying to God. It had just petered out over a long period of time, when he had become more concerned with keeping himself alive and sane than relying on any higher power to do it for him. Sure, he'd shouted at Him, implored Him - even had the odd argument with an empty sky. Yet somehow, the action of actually, consciously praying was one he just didn't do anymore.
He remembered once trying to explain the concept to Robyn. She hadn't understood.
"But Kurti," she'd said, "If there was this good God, why did he let all this bad stuff happen?"
"I don't know, Liebling," Kurt had replied, "Perhaps it's a kind of test, to find out how far we've come. Like Jesus' tests in the desert. You remember that story, ja?"
"Seems a pretty mean test to me," she'd said thoughtfully. "If I were God, I wouldn't do anything like this."
Kurt had sighed and given up the argument. It seemed like there was little to hold faith in these days. In that way, he sympathised and understood Pietro.
Now, however, faith seemed to be all he had. There seemed to be nothing he could do to help his little sister. Only pray, and hope that there was some God up there, and that He could do something - anything - to save Robyn.
And, in turn, save him.
*******************
Pietro was a blur against the barren wasteland. Running quickly, it only took him two minutes to reach the chemist store in the abandoned town, 45 miles away.
He rooted thought the various pills and condiments, seeing names that resembled his talking in fast-speech, such as poloypropalanediomticicacilidate. A mouthful, and no mistake.
He randomly grabbed a load, and was still scanning shelves when a voice behind him said, "Turn around. Slowly now, stranger."
He froze, and swivelled lightly on one foot to see a teenager, no more than about sixteen if he was a day. The brown, floppy hair was in dire need of a cut, but looked rather adorable in a childish kind of way. Not so the sword in his hand. A sword pointing at Pietro.
"Who are you, and what's your business here?" the boy demanded without preamble.
"I could ask the same of you," Pietro replied. Usually he would have been off like a shot, but some idiotic part of him was curious. The boy was alone and only armed with a single weapon that didn't have much of a radius. With his speed, what harm would a little knife like that do?
"I," said the boy, "am a scout and garrison of Mutie Town. I'm wandering these lands, looking for rogues and trespassers in our territory. You're stealing from a shop that falls within our boundaries, and are thus stealing our property. As such, I demand you identify yourself and come with me."
"Pretty big boundaries. I never saw any other towns hereabouts." Pietro felt a little less confident. Anyone coming from a place called 'Mutie Town' would invariably be a mutant. You didn't go flagging up towns like that just for fun in times like this. Who knew what sort of powers this kid possessed? Appearances could be deceiving, as he well knew.
On the other hand, he might be more likely to be friendly to Pietro, as a fellow mutant, so perhaps it would be wise to play along for a bit. Leastways until he figured out what he was truly dealing with here.
"The name's Pietro Maximoff. I'm a mutant. I'm here collecting medicine. One of my... uh, friends - who's also a mutant - is sick, and needs help. You got a problem with that?"
"..." gasped the scout. "Maximoff? You mean you're Windswift? Son of... of Erik Lenscherr? Of the Mighty Magneto?"
Blink, blink. _How the hell..._ "Er... well... kinda..."
The boy fell onto his knees. "Oh mighty Windswift! May I, a humble solider, take this moment to humbly greet you to our humble lands."
"Um... right. That's nice. Lotta humble. AndnowIgottabegoing."
"No! You can't go! I've got to take you back with me; you have to come back to Mutie Town to meet your people. Even," he spread his feet in a doubtless fighting posture, "if I have to make you."
Pietro arched an eyebrow. "Yeah? You and what army?"
"This one."
Abruptly, the boy ran over and purposefully banged his head against the wall. Once, twice, three times - and each time he did, another one of him appeared. He doubled each time he hit himself. Soon Pietro was surrounded by lots of brown haired boys with swords.
"Aw, shit!" He looked around the circle, playing for time in the hopes a flash of inspiration would come to him this time and not stupidity. "Uh... how did..."
"I wasn't given the codename 'Multiple' for nothing. Real name's Jamie, though. And now you have to come with me." He broke off to chuckle happily. "Oh man, this is *great*! First one, then the other. Both brother and sister arriving at once - "
"Excuse me? My... sister?" What did this character know of Robyn?
"Uh-huh. Rumours amongst the scouts are that the fabled Wanda Maximoff herself has made an appearance in these lands, and even now is at our beautiful town; a haven for all mutants, built in the name of the Master of Magnetism. It's your legacy. That's why you have to come with me." [2]
{DOING}
Now Pietro was caught. On the one hand Robyn, his adopted little sister, needed these medicines. On the other, if his sister - his *real* sister - was alive, and he had a chance of seeing her again...
One or the other.
It was a difficult decision.
_I've got two roads to walk down, and one road to choose[3]... so which one am I gonna?_
*******************
Seer entered through the back door, and Ororo spoke before he'd even finished walking the passage to the room in which she sat.
"Any news today?" she asked.
"None," he sighed.
"How many days since the last wanderer returned?"
"28 today, m'Lady."
"And the weather is holding?"
"Quite well."
"Have you made any headway on your prophecies?"
"No." Seer looked down for a moment. "But I - " He rounded the back of her chair and goggled. "Goddess?"
Ororo was suddenly vanished from where she'd been, and seated in her customary chair was a small man with quick, darting purple eyes.
Seer's own eyes narrowed, and he hissed on instinct. Where had Ororo gone? "Who are you?" the gargoyle-like mutant raged, flexing his claws in what he knew was a threatening gesture.
"Seer," said the man, ignoring the question. "One of your men shall return to you within six days' time. He escorts seven that you seek, and three children of the future. Another of the Blessed moves towards you even now. She has no business in your Paradise, and shall die ere she travel that way again. The one seen, but not foreseen, shall join the seven. He will bring great wealth to your land, and save your Goddess' paradise when she can no longer do so."
"I... don't understand," Seer faltered. He had the sudden feeling that he knew this man, though he was certain he'd never laid eyes upon him before in his life. "Who are you? Where are you from? What've you done with the Goddess?"
"Don't always trust what your eyes tell you."
"Is this a Vision, then?"
He didn't answer. "I am Scry. All the elements shall clash in front of my House. Time will go on. You must be ready."
"But - "
"You must be ready!" The man rose, giving emphasis to his words. "Your Goddess shall be saved for a time, but the Blessed Ones are waylaid with healing for the child. She quivers, but neither in fear nor anger. Your man is using all his skill, but he does not carry the healing herbs. You must make haste, and ready yourselves for their arrival." He pointed to the air above them. "From there shall they come, borne on the might of one who would seek to destroy them. But first, the child."
"Which child?" Seer demanded. "One of ours? What ails this child you talk of?"
"What child?" Ororo asked.
Seer blinked, the Vision fading out and returning to the familiar room and equally familiar inhabitant. Ororo peered at him, and suddenly all the strength went out of his limbs. He sank to the floor.
"M'lady... I Saw..."
*******************
"Hey!" A voice cut through Scry's semi-consciousness. "It's just a nightmare. Wake up!"
He sat up in bed, slightly bewildered at the sudden change in altitude and a lot confused. As the room came slowly into focus, Grasshopper's fathomless eyes peered at him with the closest to concern the winged mutant ever showed. He was dressed in the same clothes as always, since he never changed for bed, and even when he did retire, he rarely slept. Yet another facet of his mutation, and one that meant he often wandered the darkened streets at night, making sure all was well and flitting to windows when it appeared not so.
"Not a nightmare," Scry panted, blinking deep purple eyes. "A Vision."
{PING} All business in an instant. "What did you see?"
"I saw a monster. A mutant. A man. I told him all I knew of the Blessed Ones." Scry paused, remembering. "He told me his Goddess is in desperate need of healing, and asked me to send them to her. They must be there within a week. It's very important."
"Why?"
Scry shook his head. "He said the Lady would return with another. She won't survive the visit. The one travelling with her must join the others to see the Goddess."
Grasshopper frowned. "I don't get it."
Scry leaped out of bed. "You don't have to. Just be ready."
"Be ready?" The insectoid mutant followed him out. "Ready for what? *Scry*! Scry, hold it. Scry, as leader, I *order* you to tell me what the *hell* you're talking about!"
Scry whirled around, but instead of the anger Grasshopper was expecting, the small man's face was creased into what could only be described as intense sadness; like he was mourning for someone Grasshopper hadn't even known had died. The few remaining locks of greasy brown hair sprouting from the back of Scry's head were damp with sweat, and he ran an agitated hand through them.
Grasshopper took a tentative step forward. Comfort had never been his forte. He was a tactician, and had leadership and survival qualities coming out of the tiny holes that passed for ears. Emotions were more Jubilee's area of expertise.
Or had been, at any rate.
On impulse, he glanced out of the window to his right. The glass was broken, and a filthy rag fluttered as a makeshift curtain, all but obscuring the broken little bundle wrapped in cloth on the other side. The fabric was darker in places where the blood had dried, and there was a frail element about it she'd never possessed in life. Not even when she first came here from the brothel, all those months ago.
"Look, Scry, is it about Jubilee? I know you two were close, but we simply can't spare the manpower to bury her until morning - "
"It's not about that!" Scry snapped, tone belying his expression. He and Jubilee had indeed been close, despite their age difference. Though not physical lovers, they had been as close as that in a spiritual sense. Her sudden death had hit him hard. He'd expected her to outlive him, maybe even to someday bear his children. Now all those hopes were shattered, and it spoke volumes for his strength of character that he was picking himself up and carrying on.
After all, in Mutie Town there was rarely any time for grief. Defence and keeping raiders at bay ate it all up, as did caring for those poor unfortunate souls[4] who stumbled in here from the wastelands.
Grasshopper blinked. "Then what - "
"They're coming," Scry intoned gravely. "He told me. I had a vision of the Goddess' village. There's a mutant there. Someone who Sees things like I do. He was the one who gave the prophecies the wanderers carry around in their books. We exchanged our tales - though it seemed we were only listening to the other speak - and he warned me of their coming hence."
"Who?" Despite himself, Grasshopper was intrigued. He reminded himself that Mutie Town had to be fortified against any newcomers, lest they be hostile. Back in the beginning, when all this started four years ago, his small hamlet of a home had been ripped to shreds by those they'd trusted and led into their midst when they came stumbling out of the mist, asking for shelter. Like leading slaughterers right into the flock.
Well, not this time. Not if he could help it.
"Seven of them, plus three he - we - had not foreseen. A preacher leads them, and loses his faith with every step. One follows them with another. It is... it is *she*. The *One* who stole... who stole..." His eyes went wide with shock at a meaning only he understood, and Scry promptly fainted straight into his leader's arms.
Grasshopper swore under his breath. "Crap, this is *all* I need. What gibberish are you spouting now, old friend? And what in blue blazes does it mean for us?"
*******************
"Kurti..."
Kurt sprang up and crouched next to his little sister's side. "Ja, Liebling. What is it?"
Robyn said nothing for a moment, and her breath rasped in her throat. She sounded many times worse than she had a mere hour ago, and her fur, which had only been damp before, was now soaked with sweat until the perspiration dripped off her and onto the floor of the bus. She sat, huddled in her seat with her forehead pressed against the cool glass of the window. Her eyes were closed.
She looked, to summarize, like death warmed up.
Kurt swallowed nervously. "Robyn?"
She coughed again, and shivered like someone was walking across her grave. "Kurti... I can h... hear her..."
"Who, poppet? Who can you hear?"
"C... Cl... Clive.... she's crying."
Kurt suppressed a growl. He was an animal lover, by nature, but was fast developing something akin to hatred for the little pup that was threatening to take his Liebling from him. His sadness had channelled itself into anger, and the pup was bearing the brunt of it.
Outside, tied to the door of the bus by a length of cord wrapped around a long stick so that she couldn't get back in, Clive whimpered, and let loose a mournful howl that might have turned Kurt, could he not see Robyn's condition playing out before him.
"K... Kurti?"
"Clive's fine, liebe," he soothed, running a hand over her cheek that came away slick with sweat. "She's just... missing you, is all."
That elicited a small smile. "S'nice. I like Clive, K... Kurti... She's all soft an'...an' warm like you, o... o... only not as ho... ::cough:: ... hot..." Her speech slowed and slurred a little, and Kurt's ears pricked up immediately.
"Robyn? Robyn, are you okay? How are you feeling?"
She shouldered his touch away, but her movements were slow, and her breath hitched in her gullet like a choking seagull. "S'too hot, Kurti... wan... wanna... slee... sleee... sleeeeeeeeeee..." She trailed off, and her head flopped forward to bounce against the glass.
Out of the corner of his eye, Kurt noticed her tail suddenly go limp.
"Alvin!" he called desperately, fearing something was terribly wrong. "*Alvin*!"
A thundering of flappy footsteps behind him signalled the wanderer's arrival. "What is it, Blessed One?"
"She's not moving her tail. Even when she's deep asleep, her tail always moves. *Always*!"
Robyn did not move, and the breath rattled in her chest. Alvin crouched down beside her, lifted the bottom of her shirt to her throat, and placed his ear flush to her chest. The breath crackled in her lungs, and her heartbeat faltered. He leaned back and replaced her shirt. When he took her pulse, both at her neck and her wrist, it was thready.
"How much cold water do we have?" he asked quietly.
"Cold? Almost none," Kurt anxiously replied. They had nothing to keep water cold *with*. Dammit, where was Pietro with that medicine? "Why?"
Alvin leaned back on his heels. "Apart from putting her in a large bath of cold water, there's really nothing we can do. I ... ah, I wish there was something..."
"Nothing?" Kurt exclaimed, looking appalled.
Alvin closed his eyes and massaged the spot between them. "She's in pain, and it's only going to get worse. The sickness is much *much* quicker than I ever anticipated. One of my plants... it's an opiate. If you want - if you think it's best, I can make up a sedative quickly. I have enough to..." he trailed off deliberately, unable to think of something diplomatic to say.
Kurt's eyes went wide. "You want to *kill* her?" His voice rose to a hoarse scream.
Balling up a fist, he hit Alvin. Then, lifting Robyn in both hands, 'ported away, leaving the man sprawled gracelessly on the floor.
*******************
Some time later, Logan found Kurt in a stagnant pond a good distance from where the bus was parked. It was freezing. Kurt was on his knees, cradling Robyn in the shallows and still panting from the long-passed teleport.
Logan waded up to him silently. "Elf," he said, touching him on the shoulder.
Kurt said nothing.
Logan crouched in the water beside Robyn, and took her from the elf. Kurt did not resist. Logan could hear him breathing, but not Robyn. He didn't look at the former when he said, "She's dead, Kurt."
"I know," Kurt whispered quietly, "but I didn't know what else to do, because Alvin said to keep her cool, and the water was cool, so I took her here, but she was so feverish, and I couldn't do anything but keep her here in the water, and there wasn't anything else I knew to do, and I couldn't... couldn't..."
Logan said nothing, but easily lifted both of them out of the water. He held Robyn's body in one arm, and left the other around Kurt's shoulder. The elf leaned on him shakily, and they started to walk back to the bus.
Kurt didn't cry. Not even a single teardrop or sniffle.
His Liebling was gone. It didn't matter what he did anymore.
*******************
To Be Continued...
*******************
[1] As in Braddock. Otherwise known as Captain Britain, before the war sent him as an injured into one of Maggie's stasis tubes.
[2] Jamie's been out on patrol this whole time, and with communication the way it is, it stands to reason he wouldn't yet know of Wanda's exploits in Mutie Town, even if he did hear the rumours from the other scouts of her being there.
[3] From _Thinking It Over_ by Dana Glover.