When Rahne came to she found herself upright, which surprised her momentarily. On attempting to move she found that she'd been bound against a large post. Sturdy ropes were digging into her wrists and ankles and cutting across her chest, making it impossible to draw a deep breath. A few seconds passed while she tried to piece together what was happening, why she was tied up – then the bruises and cuts covering her body began to smart and ache and the memories of the beating came flooding back. And following that the events that had led to it – the hunt, and the fire, and… her parents. She fought back the urge to howl her pain and sorrow to the unheeding sky.
She had been placed in the village square, facing the entrance to the pub. But apart from a few onlookers on the opposite side of the square, she had been left alone. Rahne wondered where everyone else had gone, and what they were planning to do with her. Had they brought her here to continue the beating more formally – to have her publicly flogged and left tied up as an example of evil?
Her answer came all too quickly. People began trickling back into the square, each carrying something in their arms. She had no idea what it was they were holding until they started filing past. Each person walked quickly, avoiding looking at the bruised and bound teenage girl as they dropped off their load at her feet. Looking down, Rahne realised to her horror that the villagers were building a pyre around her. She was going to be burned at the stake.
She struggled against the ropes lashing her to the post, but they had been tied too firmly for her to break in human form. In vain, she tried to change into her transitional form, in which she should have been easily able to burst the knots, but the beating had left her too weakened to carry out the transformation. She was not going to be able to escape from this.
So this was God, Rahne thought bitterly, watching as the wood was stacked about her feet. The same God she'd believed in unquestioningly, all her life. The God who was supposed to save people's souls, who was just going to let her burn to death. The God who had let her parents… her mind shied away from that thought, unwilling or unable to process it at the moment.
Within a couple of minutes, the pyre was complete. The last person shuffled up and dropped their load of wood against her feet. There was an unmistakeable sharp and bluish smell of guilt rising from them, almost but not quite overpowered by the clammy scent of fear. Looking closer she realised that she recognised them. "Mr Fraser?" she asked, her voice barely more than a hoarse whisper.
The elderly shopkeeper avoided meeting her eyes. "I'm sorry lass," he said.
"But, you know me, Mr Fraser – I'm not a demon!" she pleaded desperately. He finally looked up at her face, eyes and scent filled with uncertainty.
"Enough of your tricks, demon!" the harsh, assured tones of the Reverend resounded. "Ye have played on the pity and compassion of our weaker villagers for too long! Do not be taken in by the guise the demon has chosen ta take now, Fraser, it merely seeks ta fool ye into believing it a weak and helpless child. Did it not show its true form and nature earlier when it attacked myself and two other virtuous members of this community?" his voice boomed out across the square, allowing everyone to hear, and this comment drew nods from all, with varying degrees of reluctance. "It may have taken the form of a teenage girl, Mr Fraser, but we have all witnessed the reality – it is a wild beast, a vessel of evil, as it showed by attacking us without provocation."
"Without provocation?" Rahne choked out, fury overcoming her pain for a split second. "You killed my parents!" she screamed at the hateful man who was standing there calmly with his unbreakable assurance of his righteousness.
"Silence, demon!" he bellowed. "It is not for ye ta judge the actions of the Lord's chosen! Ye are nothing more than a pawn of Satan, and tonight we shall rid our community of the taint that ye have spread on it! Ye will burn in the cleansing flame so that ye may return ta the flames of Hell where ye belong!" Some members of the crowd cheered at this. "The torch, Crawford!"
But as Mr Crawford came forward, bearing a lighted torch another voice sounded in the crowded square which had become deadly silent in anticipation of the burning. "Now wait just a minute," it said, in a tone that sounded almost absurdly conversational to Rahne. The crowd, if anything, became more silent, and parted fluidly down the middle to reveal three figures. The shortest one, in the centre, appeared to be the speaker, and was flanked by two taller figures that seemed to be acting almost like a bodyguard. The trio walked through the divided crowd, approaching the Minister.
As they neared Rahne realised that it was Moira MacTaggert. Rahne had never seen her companions, a sandy-haired middle-aged man and a blonde girl who looked about her own age, before, but each had adopted an almost protective stance beside the diminuitive red-haired woman. "And what exactly would be going on here?" asked Moira.
"This is no concern of yours, MacTaggert," hissed Reverend Craig. "This is the Lord's work, not your heretical blasphemy!"
"Well, I'll admit to knowing little about the workings of the Church, Reverend," the woman replied calmly, "but I had thought that the Christian ethic did not extend to burning innocents." A few members of the crowd shifted uneasily at that, but the Minister was unswayed.
"That is no innocent!" he cried, pointing at Rahne. "It has exposed itself as a demon, and as such it is completely within the Church's rights ta burn it!"
"I very much doubt that Rahne Sinclair is an agent of the devil," Moira replied. "But in actual fact, that wasn't what I was referring to. I was talking about the murders of Ian and Jenny Sinclair that were committed tonight." Now even more of the crowd were looking uncomfortable, Rahne noticed. Reverend Craig had been very careful not to use her parent's names when referring to them, but the scientist's words were making their victims all too human and real, bringing the unpleasant facts back to the surface of the crowd's minds.
"An unfortunate necessity," the Reverend stated. "But the evil had touched them too deeply and the cleansing fire was required ta purify their souls, setting them free." But somehow his voice, though still strident, seemed to have lost its aura of righteous surety. "They too had become creatures of the Devil."
Moira merely raised and eyebrow. She turned away from the Minister, instead addressing the villagers who were milling uncertainly. "Creatures of the Devil?" she asked. "Do any of you truly believe that the Sinclairs were Satan's minions? They were your workmates, your friends, your neighbours. I know some of you must have known Ian for over 40 years – I think you all know, deep in your hearts, that they were just people, and innocent." Rahne smelled a sudden wave of intense guilt emanating from the crowd.
But Reverend Craig wasn't giving up the battle for their hearts and minds yet. "The fact still remains that the girl is not a person – ye all saw her transform into a wild beast – she is assuredly an agent of Satan!"
"She is a teenage girl!" Moira retorted sharply. "Rahne Sinclair is as human as you or I, and genetic testing will assuredly prove it! However, like my two companions here, she possesses an extra gene which has given her different characteristics – just as some of you possess the gene that enables you to roll your tongue, and some of you do not. The X-gene is a matter of science and hereditary, not forces of good and evil. You would do best, in future, to remember that," she told the villagers.
"It was him!" a voice from the back cried. "He forced us to do it!"
"Really?" she asked. "I fail to see your esteemed Reverend holding any sort of gun to your head, Mr MacLachlan." Rahne thought she heard a surprised intake of breath – the shouter obviously hadn't thought he was identifiable. "Oh yes, Mr Mac Lachlan, I'm quite aware of who you are," said Moira. "I know each of your names and faces – Miss Little, Mr Crawford, yes, you too." The villagers shifted uncomfortably, avoiding each others eyes. "It's harder to face when you're not a faceless part of a mob, isn't it?" Moira continued. "Just like it's easier to blame your actions on the ravings of a deranged Minister. But you'd all do well to remember that the reason that the Sinclairs are dead is because all of you let it happen – in fact you took part in it – you had your choice, and each of you made it." The villagers were studiously trying to avoid each others eyes. "Yes, even you, Mr Fraser," she said. "And now you've got to live with it."
"I will not countenance this!" protested the Reverend.
"It doesn't look like ye have a choice," Moira's male companion told him. "I doubt that yer going t'have any influence over these here people any longer, Father." At least one good thing had come from the night then, Rahne thought bitterly.
"And now I believe we'll be taking Rahne home with us," Moira said. "Please don't try to stop us; Sean and Teresa are really not people that you want to tangle with. They are not a scared and exhausted teenage girl who you outnumber forty-to-one." In fact no one seemed at all keen to protest that anyway. Rahne presumed that no one relished the idea of having to deal with her – a walking reminder of their crimes would have been too much to cope with.
"Up t' ye, Siryn," said the man, nodding at the girl who was standing on the other side of Moira. She walked over to the pyre surrounding Rahne. Opening her mouth, she let out the most strangely intense scream that Rahne had ever heard. The ropes around her ankles shattered. The girl let out another burst of sound and her wrists were free. One more pulse from the sonic lance and the ropes around her chest disintegrated. Suddenly unsupported, Rahne found that she could not manage to hold herself up, and she collapsed forward, crumpling at the knees. Strong hands kept her from hitting the ground, and she found herself cradled in the arms of the man – had Moira called him Sean? Then for the second time that night she lapsed into unconsciousness.
……
She woke to find herself inside some kind of aircraft. Moira was sitting beside her, attempting to rinse away some of the blood that was caked on her face, the other two were seated at the controls.
"Where are we going?" asked Rahne, without really wanting to know the answer – it was enough that it was away from Ullapool, and all its associated memories.
"Muir Island. You'll be safe there, darling," said Moira.
'Darling'. That was what her mother had called her. Suddenly the reality hit Rahne in its entirety. Her parents were gone forever – she would never see them again, and it was because of her. The guilt and grief were threatening to overwhelm her mind – it was too much to deal with at the moment. But an alternative way beckoned to her. As a wolf, she didn't need to think, the pain would deal with itself. Summoning up every last bit of her strength, Rahne forced herself to transform into her lupine state. As Wolfsbane, the grief was still there, but now she could cope – she was free of the encumbrance of complex thoughts and self-doubt and recrimination, and she could mourn her parents properly. She howled.
NB: More entrances from canon characters here: Sean Cassidy (Banshee), an Irishman with a range of sonic powers, and his daughter, Teresa O'Rourke (Siryn) who inherited very similar abilities. Once again, there are some different my version and comic canon, but well, you know the drill by now.
And there we have it – the big climax in three chapters is done! But wait… there's still more. Lots, lots more…