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Chapter.12.
The Yolocan-Uato Temple...
Both of Ororo's hands held as tightly as they could onto Remy's left one but she wasn't sure how much longer she could keep it that way. Her head was spinning, consciousness threatening to leave her at any moment as the unbearable fumes began to consume and envelope her. She tried her best not to look down as her legs flailed beneath her, keeping her eyes on Remy's arm as every muscle and tendon within it stood in relief against the skin, straining to keep a hold of her as his other arm hooked around the column; the dark streak of blood staining the cinnamon skin, still weeping lazily from the wound she'd placed there.
Remy knew he was pushing his body to breaking point but somewhere inside he found it within him to carry on. But he needed that bit extra to pull this off and he was determined to plumb the very depths to find it. He wasn't going to lose his Stormy here, like this---not today.
"GgggrrrrrrrrraaaAAH!" With everything he had and then some, Remy heaved himself against the column, just enough to get his left foot onto the edge of the door. Once he had it over the thresh hold he simultaneously flipped his body around and threw himself to the ground so that he now lay against it with both arms hanging off the edge; immediately Ororo had the courage to loosen the grip of her left hand and catch it instead to his free right one. It had been a gamble; the second he'd let go of that column to turn down to the ground he knew that Storm's weight on his left arm could very well have dragged them both down into a fiery exit. That gamble had paid off, sure---but they were not out of the woods just yet.
"I got yo' chèrie!" His voice was strained in his throat as he began to pull her up, this time every cord and muscle on his upper body standing out with the pressure. "Huuurrraaarrrghhhh!" With a forceful tug he pitched his body up, managing to get onto his knees and pulling Ororo up some more; her head reaching over the level of what was once the floor. It was just the opening she needed to gather all of the strength that she could muster.
"Let go of my left hand."
Remy did so, trusting her to know what she was doing. As soon as he released it, it left her free to grab onto the bottom of the opposite column; thrusting herself up and taking hold of it as far around as she could. He then reached down with his free hand and grabbed the biggest handful of her trousers and belt that he could and simply heaved her up to safety; collapsing back as she pitched forwards onto him. Finally out of harms way. Remy didn't rest though until he had dragged her further down the passage way that they were in now, as far as he could get them away from the edge, until he collapsed back. Both splayed on the ground.
*
Ororo lay flat on the uneven floor, heaving her breaths as her whole body trembled from its core with sheer exhaustion. The ground scratched at her skin but she didn't care. Even if she'd have been capable of moving under her own volition, she seriously doubted whether she'd want to at this moment. But that decision was soon taken from her.
Remy may have been as utterly worn as Ororo but he found it in him somewhere to scramble over to her, hands and knees to pull her up into his arms. An unequalled experience he feared he'd never have the chance to do again. The gravity of that realisation may have weighed on him, may have made him feel sick to the stomach---but it had helped clarify things for him too.
He held her to him now, his arms hooked beneath hers, wrapped around her back with a tight possessiveness as she lay against his body as limp as a rag doll---wanting to hold him just as tightly but presently lacking the physical will to do so. His hands scrunched into balls, fisting up her torn shirt as his cheek pressed against the side of her head; offering silent prayer to her Goddess for keeping Storm safe for him. He'd never been one to believe in anything of that nature but at that point he may very well have believed in anything and indeed everything.
"Mon chèrie..." Remy whispered close to her ear, his voice rasping and warm against her. He could feel the tremble of her body and soon realised that it was his too; quaking in his love. The relief, fear and weariness. Finally he pulled back, moving his hands around to cup her face, first pressing a kiss to one soot stained cheek, marked with the salty, clear tracks of tears that he could taste on his dry lips when he touched his tongue to them. Then he moved to her other cheek, and then her closed eyelid with its long curling sweep of ebony, and then her forehead, her nose, until he found himself littering her face with soft but somehow frantic kisses. All the time he murmured to her in his low, comforting drawl, over and over again, in between each heart-felt osculation, "Ma Tempête Angélique...ma Tempêter..." Hushed words he hadn't used to her for years caressed her as much as his hands and his kisses, rousing her, giving her the fortitude to respond.
Storm brought her hands up to cup his face in mirror of the way his gently supported hers, pressing a kiss to his chin from her lower position, rough against her lips, as was the dimple, just past his mouth, at the left side of his face. "Remy..." Her voice quivered, as quickly, her at first light kisses became as insistent as his now were, showering him with equal fervour. "My friend...my love..."
Remy broke from her, tilting her head back gently, his face still close to hers; two figures in the acid glow of a volcano's inferno coming from far down the passageway. He ran a thumb along her cheek bone, smudging the soot. "Ma l'amour..."
This time there was no reason for hesitation, no doubt...Remy pressed his lips to hers and she came to him willingly, lost in him instantly. As he was in her. He parted her mouth and then drew his top lip over her bottom one, tasting it lightly, taking his time to savour his first true feel of her. He let go then, slowly, to take her whole mouth once more, lovely caressing it. She sighed into it and he took the gentle gust, drinking her in, her very essence; the rain, the winds, the lightening spark that caused fire. The kiss deepened and it burned between them.
Ororo moved her hands up, sinking them into his hair, gripping at the thick tussle of his auburn locks; the soft spice of him mingled with the bitter- sweet salt of sweat, making her yearn for him more. They delved into each other; fierce and tender. For the first time this was truly real for her...the first time it was real for both of them...
Slowly they broke apart, each taking one or two last hungry tastes until they rested; their foreheads leant against other in a steeple, hands hooked about each others necks, breaths panting. White light began to radiate from their left, the source unknown but enough to pull them back to the present. It came from the top of a set of steps that they hadn't even realised where there; so lost in each other, abandoned in solace and ardour. They turned their heads towards it as it appeared to grow brighter, all outside information falling to the peripheries; scent, sound, sensation...everything.
Remy pulled back from her, his hand slipping down, absently clasping to one of Ororo's as he began to stand up, drawn by this unnatural aurora that sung without a voice. She allowed herself to be righted by him, apart from the light the only other thing to register in her mind being the clammy, reassuring grasp of his hand over hers. In a trance like state, they moved forwards as one, following the evanescent glow as it receded back, as if its sole purpose for existence was to beckon them to whatever awaited at the summit of the stairs.
*
The epicentre of the Temple of Yolocan-Uato...
The light sunk back, low in the room, a sphere in the centre point. The vast power of a star, contained within its own universe here on earth. Remy and Ororo stepped into its domain, finally their wears coming back to them, their senses revived. As they came through the arching doorway wit the ridged jamb, directly opposite them was the face, the face of the keeper of the temple that they had witnessed from the outside but were now seeing from its inward indentation; the eyes opening out like windows onto the starry stretch of nocturnal blankness. It was funny; inside they felt as if they were a million miles away from this world, when death seemed immanent but all the while here it was, merely a walls width away. Even the rage of the volcano below and the tremor of its physical anger had vanished to their minds, though it still remained. Simply contained. But for how long? They had not the time to dwell.
As they walked stiffly into the space there was nothing in this hollowed room save for themselves and the light that continued to fade yet somehow exude its luminosity, eventually revealing its secret to the adventurers. As it grew smaller and smaller, the sharp outline of several figures emerged from its consuming embrace; revealing their forms from the blinding white. The ridged lines showed them to be held in the same kind of immortal death state as the ones encountered hours ago on the streets of the captivating lost city. As the light pulled back further, like a receding the tides of the ocean, there were four of them in total. Caught in the dramatic stance of an anonymous history painting. Three were as utterly indistinguishable as the many soldiers that ran through the streets in their imperialistic terrorising, but there was one that appeared grander than these other mere plebs.
Remy let go of Ororo's hand, stepping forwards toward the slim plinth that sat in the direct centre of the head of Yolocan-Uato. The great warrior goddess of the Yaitata'í People. Toward her heart, her essence he travelled, unawares. But he felt it as sure as anything. A rabid clamouring that rendered him helpless in her presence. Storm watched him go, wordless in recognition of the pull of what showed itself to be the simple humble semblance of a small box from beneath the white glow as with the sudden suck and *whoosh* of an implosion, the light was sucked into a vacuum. A simple dark box that's pattern mimicked the intricate design of the city that was built to contain and indeed worship it. That was all the earthly remnants that remained of an awesome power.
Gambit was upon it now, looming over it; all light gone but still remaining to guide his way. The room was filled with it but it resonated from nowhere. The fourth figure was there---opposite the X-Man like an erstwhile chess opponent, defying him to make his move. Dressed in all the splendour of a General, the thick luxurious drape of his cape with its golden clasps at each shoulder obvious even in their ashen form, he stood, his hands on the box, held around each edge; his foolishness obvious, allowing Remy Etienne LeBeau, five hundred years later, to learn from his mistake.
Harsh like the raging thrash of the Mississippi his breathing seemed, for it filled his senses as he reached down to the box that was no bigger than four inches by four, his devils orbs locked with the white death of this unknown invader. Such magnitude contained within such minutiae. He could feel it, couldn't help but lick his lips at the tantalising prospect of laying his hands upon it. The bead of salt ran, coursing down the contours, falling from the tip.
They were near now, his hands, the black leather practically melted to them, a second tougher skin. Almost there, the vaunted prize his and for this moment his alone. Such grandeur---the Master Thief and his Ultimate Prize. He couldn't distinguish the sensation in him as that born of the thrill of acquisition or the burning that plagued him more now than it had previously. His lips parted, his tongue curled, held between two rows of straight white teeth, breath in stasis, frozen in his throat. Remy touched the box...
"ARGH!"
Like the jolt of a thousand bolts ripping through his system, Gambit was thrown forwards across the room, smashing through the ghost that confronted him and falling at the face of the idol of the temple. Stunned for a moment, he quickly righted himself into a sitting position and attempted to shake his head of the feeling, but it persisted. The savage flare that had nestled in the heat more pronounced than ever. For a moment he would have sworn it was the lava that had replaced his blood; the box a transfusion.
Ororo didn't move in reaction to this, moreover the captivation of the object enough to entice her towards it; a strange lack of concern overcoming her for what had just happened. When she did move, she only vaguely noticed Remy stirring at the edge of her vision. But that small action made her stop---with all the will she had left to her, wrenching herself from the relic's power.
"Remy? Are you okay?"
Remy laughed wearily, his eyebrows creased as he pushed himself up further to lean against the wall properly, not slumped as he was. "Yah..." He shook his head vigorously, attempting to rid it of the wringing that persisted. "Sapristi!" For a reason unknown to the watching Storm, he brought his hands up before him, convinced he would see flames rising from their palms and finger tips. When he looked over their tops, moving his gaze slowly past them he was just in time to see Ororo advancing on the plinth. "What're yo' doin' girl?"
Ororo looked over to him, her expression curious yet knowing, "What do you think?" She saw his mouth open sharply, ready to protest but too late. She closed her hands around the labyrinthine ridged darkness of the box.
Nothing.
Her fingers crept further around it until they touched each other around the back; encompassed in the sure cups of her palms. She looked up at Remy, taking her eyes from the box for a moment and smiled; instantly he recognised it. He knew the feelings coursing though her as sure as he was feeling them himself. It was true---they were the same creature; the thief at the heart of both of them. He returned the sentiment.
"Huh!" He huffed mockingly, "De 'Red Sonja' effect, non?" Ororo gave him a confused look to which he waved an exhausted hand. "Not int' de Arnie back- catalogue, hien? Nevah mind."
Ororo flicked her eyes to the heavens briefly; only Remy could entertain humour at such moments. Well, perhaps Bobby too. "Whatever 'effect' it is," She began, focusing on the box again as she readied herself to lift it, "It appears it is more favourable to my handling than yours."
"Dat's exactly what I meant chère."
Ignoring him, Storm leaned forwards into the plinth, holding the tense position of an animal about to make its escape. Remy pushed himself to his feet; still uncertain on them after his shock and even more so about Ororo's imminent actions. At first his body failed him; the inferno within him, bridling. He tried again and this time succeeded, taking hold of the concaved curve of the statues gracious lips as the dark cube was raised.
An instant explosion. The pungent smell of sulphur.
As soon as Ororo had removed the Carcoccia from its resting place the light that filled the room was extinguished as if doused with the flooding rains of the forest around them. All that had held it over the many years was finally knocked loose.
"I fear we have removed the lynch-pin." Ororo conceded as she looked about her, as did Remy; the three still figures left crumbling as the whole building started to shake anew. Or maybe it had never ceased...
Remy pushed himself forwards to relinquish the support of the wall and make his way over to her as she began to back away from the centre of the room; box firmly in hand, struggling to keep her balance as familiar reverberations racked the building. They knew immediately that it would not be standing for much longer, the force far greater, if that were indeed possible, than before. Whatever energy that resided within this box that they had removed was all that was keeping the stability of the temple at one with the force that raged beneath it, all that was containing it. What they had suffered below was simply a warning. They soon realised they had pushed matters too far...
"We gotta get outta 'ere." Remy stated the obvious as the first cracks began to appear on the façade of the inside of the idols head. It would only be a matter of time before everything fell about and beneath them.
*KKKRRASSHASASAKKKCRRRKK!*
A large chunk of the forehead broke away and crashed to the ground on their right, the light grey stone scattering across the floor. Instantly Ororo knew what to do---fight or flight instincts rushing in, along with years of battle experience. And this, for all her mastery [sic] of nature, was a time of flight, in the truest sense of the word.
"Hold onto me!" She told Remy; running over to him with the box safely clasped in her hands. As she met him, he wrapped his arms around her waist; a lover's sure embrace. But he almost reeled back; the box repelling him from her proximity. Never-the-less, he held onto her tight, fighting against the burn; the siphoning drain.
Ororo's head titled back, her eyes the preternatural white of her powers and the slim tendrils of lightening sparked with the whip of psionically induced winds. The temple began to disintegrate in earnest by this time; gargantuan pieces of the head falling down; in on itself and outside, onto the city below. But Storm did not wait for an opening to be presented to her, she would not risk it. She took matters into her own hands, putting a great deal of effort into channelling the energy of a low pressure system passing above; unfortunately the removal of the cities time pocket had brought upon it all the natural pressures of the forest beyond its walls and the volcano's tree-swamped sloping sides. She found herself once again struggling with the tremendous and strong Amazon for control of the weather. But, gritting her teeth and with all her might, she managed it; making the pressure system collide with a warm slip stream from the west, coming in from the Pacific. A storm cloud brewed and as the winds she had summoned began to lift the pair from the ground, a spiked shard of electric blue lightening ripped through the ceiling, opening up for them an easy escape route.
Beneath them the lava had become free to roam---no longer a 'mystical mistress' to keep it in check. The thick smoke and steam began to fill the likeness of Yolocan-Uato; the white-hot malt would not be far behind them. This time it would not be tame in its fervour, nor the destruction it would wreak...
High, high, high and fast, Ororo raised them, out now on her winds into the warm air, the spit of rain beginning from her black cloud. The acuity of her powers focused everything within her for now; the insistent press of his body to hers, strong hands and muscular arms inspiring her to take them from danger. Like a shooting star, they left a visible jet stream in their wake.
Only Remy had opportunity to look back on what they were fast leaving behind. Watching as the entire temple glowed through the spectrum, not just red and orange, but gold and yellow, blue, purple and everything in between.
"I don' mean to hurry yo' girl, but I t'ink we bedduh high-tail it a bit quicker dan dis." Just as he bellowed this to her over nature's un- malicious rancour, the top finally broke; spewing forth the furious red into the air and in all other directions. The updraft of which collided with Storm's wind, knocking her out of control. She still tried, desperately, to hold on but it was of no use. The heat of the air rushing upwards sent them flying haphazardly into the night, flailing into chaos. Storm was able to keep her grip on Remy and the box as far as clearing the rim of the volcano; witnessing only fleetingly as the jet of lava flew up into the navy blue of the night sky that was rapidly filling with a thick grey cloud of smoke, lit from beneath with the fires. Pouring up in a painfully magnificent display, before flowing down, wiping out the buildings that had been preserved forever; the last to see them before the hot torrent took them away.
They were over the volcano's edge now, coming down a little too quickly onto the canopy of the trees, spiralling down, almost completely in free- fall by now. But Storm managed to maintain control for long enough to at least soften the blow of their imminent landing, a five hundred foot descent, which would have otherwise killed them both. That did not mean though that it was smooth; almost as disastrous as expected as they smashed through the top layer off trees, breaking apart as they did so to fall to earth separately. They had absolutely no protection as branches whacked into them, going too fast to be able to catch hold of them and slow their rapid descent. Neither of them was aware of where the other was as they both crashed into the dark of the forest floor, though their minds were on each other and not themselves. As the impact happened they were not sure weather the blackness beneath the canopy was the terminal fold of death as their consciousness slipped away, mercifully before either of them felt the pain they knew was surely coming.
* * *
New Orleans, Louisiana...
The unassuming black jeep came to a halt on the baron mud patch at the front of the small swamp side dwelling. As always the frogs croaked and the marshy land shimmered with minute activity; the sharp slam of the driver and passenger doors cutting through the sounds of wilderness in the New Orleans night. Jean-Luc LeBeau stood for a moment by the driver door he'd just climbed out of, looking at the ball of yellow light that spilled from the open porch screen door, splintering through the hanging ceramic beads.
Thierry Mauvais stopped close to the porch, having quickly approached it, a short walk away. "What's wrong?" He asked impatiently as he turned to his leader, "Yo' comin' in or no'?"
"Oui." He replied almost thoughtfully and then started over to the house, but as he neared his Chief Advisor he held a hand up to him as if to say stop, seeing that he was turning to enter, "Yo' wait out 'ere fo' a min'ue homme. Wait in de ride." He pushed back the screen door, the springs squealing in protest, "I'll call if I need yo'."
Mauvais didn't bother to protest, simply turning on his heal and heading back for the jeep, grabbing hold of the top bar and climbing into it rather than opening the door, whilst a somewhat subdued Jean-Luc entered Tantie Mattie's home alone.
*
The thick intoxicating cooking aroma of Jambalaya filled the hallway of the small shack. The homely smell that wafted from the doorway at the far end, weaving with the ever-present musk of incense, making him feel comfortable as he always did when he came to see Mattie; memories of safer, maybe rose- tinted days recalled. But he was still on edge---the purpose of his visit wasn't going to sit well with her, he knew immediately. As far as his son was concerned there had always been and would always be a bone of contention between the two of them. Indeed, it had already driven a wedge between the pair, as well as Mattie and the Thieves Guild as a whole. This latest situation wasn't going to do too much to heal that ever widening rift. As he passed through the doorway he didn't pay too much attention to the photograph pinned to the wall, close to it. Not wanting to be reminded right now of happier and more innocent, carefree times for his son. The precocious but unbelievably skilled little scamp that was going to be the greatest thief the Guild had ever seen, an heir apparent to the LeBeau throne, even above Henri, his own flesh and blood.
"I been wonderin' when yo' were gonna wing yaw way 'round 'ere Jean-Luc." As Jean-Luc entered the living room Tantie stepped out of the kitchen, emerging from a cloud of cooking steam, whipping her hands on the off-white cotton apron about her rotund waist. Her face had something of a red flush beneath the shinning ebony; clear to see as her thick mass of dreaded hair was pulled back into a pony tail at the nape of her neck. "Is he back yet?" She asked sternly, any lingering strand of friendship seemed to fade with each visit.
Jean-Luc shook his head, "Non...we ain't 'eard nuhddin yet."
"It been almos' a week Jean." She moved further into the room, going over to the antique set of draws with the bowing Queen Anne legs and opened the top one. Keeping a casual air to the meeting.
"I know it Mattie."
"Ain't yo' worried," She took out a box of thin red tapering candles, taking just one from the packet, "Or don' yo' care?"
Jean-Luc's face darkened as he stared at Mattie, for a moment offended that she could think such a thing of him, "'Course I do mon amie," He practically spat out, instantly goaded into defensive posturing. She always had a way of cutting through his steely, well worked restrained exterior, making him show how he really felt---as close friends often did. Even when you didn't want them to. But he didn't know if he could class her as such any longer, not anymore..."Yo' know 'ow much dat li'll swamp rat means t' me Mat'."
Mattie turned, glaring at him sharply, the jaundiced look of her wide eyes unsettling around the complete black of the irises. "Den why would yo' send him int' such danger? 'Cause it look t' me like yo' don' really care at all." She slammed the draw back shut, making the whole unit rattle against the wall.
"Dat ain't fair Mat', 'e knows I do. But yo' of all people know de position I'm in---."
"'He knows' does he?!" She shot back at him like an accusation, ignoring all else he had said. "Yo' might do bedduh t' remind him o' dat fact Jean. Yo' done nuhddin but hurt an' torment dat boy evah since yo' abandoned him."
"Abandoned 'im?!" Jean-Luc was incredulous by now, pacing to the centre of the room and then back again with a shake of his head. "Remy was de one who turned is back on us, if I remember righ'. He turned is back on dis Guild, on 'is family, all fo' de teenage fancy o' some blonde Assassin skirt. I can't be held responsible if my son choose t' t'ink wit' de contents o' 'is trousers rather dan 'is head when he made 'is choice."
Mattie felt her chest tighten with a rage she rarely felt, but she swallowed it down like the bitterest pill, doing a mental count to ten. She took in a shallow breath. "What about de contents o' his heart Jean," she said, offended by his complete lack of respect for Remy's feelings. "Or did the fact dat he loved Belle no' madduh?"
Jean-Luc huffed, poking his tongue into the side of cheek, "Love?" He shook his head and raised a dark brown brow at her. "Yo' t'ink dose two li'll pip- squeaks even knew de meanin' o' de word?" He stopped for a moment taking in a breath before going over to the couch and perching on its edge. Clasping his hands together loosely between his parted knees as he leant forwards slightly. He spoke quietly as he continued; his dark eyes to the floor. "Dey was jus' kids Mat'---li'll kids. Pups. He couldn' see dat all I was tryin' t' do was protect 'im. A Poppa jus' tryin' t' stop his damn-fool boy from makin' de biggest mistake o' 'is life. But 'e was jus' too damn stubborn t' see dat. He was de one who choose de hard way---no' me." Finally he raised his gaze again, fixing his friend, "No' me..." He repeated.
"Remy may have jus' been a kid Jean, but dat didn' stop yo' from treatin' him like an adult in de way dat yo' delivered yaw punishment, did it?"
"Dose was Guild rules mon amie," He couldn't stop himself from pointing an angry finger at Mattie. "---'e broke dem, 'e paid de price." Suddenly calmed, he added quietly, the guilt shinning through no matter how hard he tried to cover it. "Like I said---de 'ard way."
"I see, so yo' absolvin' yo'self all round den, hien?" Mattie shook her head at him in disbelief as she sat herself down on the easy chair opposite him; lowering herself carefully, as the joints in her swollen knees refused to yield lightly. They were always bad in the summer---especially at night. "So it was his fault de Guild cast him out on his own after givin' dem his everyt'in'---and de Guilds fault dat dey forced yaw hand in de madduh? Dear God, Jean-Luc LeBeau," It was her turn to show disbelief, "When are yo' gonna stand up an' take some responsibility fo' what yo' did t' yaw son's life?" She threw her hands up in the air, turning away from him like she didn't even care for what excuses he could muster up to defend himself, for as far as she was concerned, no reason in the world would be good enough. Standing up, she went over to one of the candles, fixed into a gleaming brass holder on the wall and touched the taper in her hand to its lively flame. She moved then, over to her small shrine table, lighting each one with the slim red stick of wax held in her hand. "Remy may 'ave turned out t' be a fine young man," She started with her back turned to him, "---a, good an' honourable young man, but dat ain't no t'anks t' yo'. He could 'ave destroyed himself over it---almos' did too, he made some bad decisions along de way---but he survived, he worked t'rough it. Found himself a life worth livin' fo' too. He don' need yo' an' dose men yo' choose t' call 'honourable' members o' de Thieves Guild t' mess dat up fo' him."
"Do yo' t'ink dat's what I want?" He finally got a word in edgeways after she'd finished her rant against him, "Do yo' t'ink any o' dis is what I want? I know Xavier's dream 'as given 'im back some self-respect, some self- worth---de las' t'ing I want is t' ruin dat fo' 'im. Bu' my hands are tied 'ere Mat'---dere ain't nuhddin I can do 'bout dis."
Mattie sighed impatiently as she lit the last candle of the bunch and then shook the taper quickly to extinguish its flame. "Dey may-well be, but yo' jus' bedduh pray t' de Lord dat de boy comes back safe. T'ings ain't quite rollin' his way like dey once were." She muttered the last bit, almost like she didn't want him to here but knowing that he would, causing Jean-Luc to give her a curious look.
"What yo ' mean, 'ain't quite rollin' 'is way'?"
Mattie placed the taper absently on the draw top with a light tap, looking at Jean-Luc over her shoulder, hesitating. Finally she turned to him fully, "Yo' mean Remy nevah tol' yo'?"
"Tol' me what Mattie?" He ground out slowly, his drawl thick.
It was too late to back-track now, but maybe it would do him good to know. "Remy ain't got his powers no more---he lost dem. I don' know how or when, but all I do know is dat...dey're gon'."
Jean-Luc stood up, his eyes and mind far off. "Why didn' he say somet'in'?"
"Perhaps he t'ought it wouldn' o' made a blind bit o difference." She countered somewhat snidely, surprising him a little. She headed back for the kitchen, shouting back over the bubbling of the Jambalaya on the stove, "Anyway, I'm sure yo' didn' drag yo'self all de way out 'ere jus' t' talk about de mistakes o' de past?"
"Non," He replied as he went over to the kitchen doorway, making a hasty cross over himself as he passed the table, thankful that the well-treaded conversation was over, he stood at the edge as Mattie stirred the pot, "--- but I t'ink yo' know what I am 'ere fo'."
She turned, banging the heavy wooden spoon on the rim of the pot to rid it of the excess before placing it down on the discoloured vinyl counter of the tiny room, next to the much-aged gas cooker. But she didn't look at Jean-Luc, her eyes travelled past him, focusing on something else. He turned, drawn to look at where she was.
"Yo' asked her yet, homme?" His tall, sandy-haired companion stood behind him, close to the easy chair.
"I t'ought I tol' yo' wait outside Thierry."
"Well I got sick o' waitin'---yo' know it cooler inside dan out righ' now." Thierry rubbed a white handkerchief about the nape of his neck a few times as he spoke, soaking up the moisture.
"'Ow long have yo' been standin' dere?"
"Long enough," He stated somewhat cryptically, "Yo' asked her?" He repeated, deflecting Jean-Luc's attention.
"I was jus' gettin' 'round t' it---fo' a thief yo' sure ain't got much patience."
Thierry gave him a sardonic look but said nothing as he tucked the now marked handkerchief into the pocket at the hip of his Guild uniform, next to where his scabbard would have been placed had he been wearing it.
Jean-Luc turned back to Mattie, for a moment he could have sworn he saw a scowl on her face. But that was nothing unusual; he'd always known that she didn't care too much for his Chief Advisor. She'd even tried to persuade him to change his mind on his choice when he first became the Patriarch of Clan LeBeau. But he'd been young and headstrong, perhaps thinking a little more sentimentally than pragmatically when he'd given the position to his best friend. There were perhaps ten other candidates that would have been more suited to the roll, but back then Jean-Luc listened to no-ones advise but his own. It had taken him years to give Mattie his ear faithfully, and when he had she became a valued member of the Clan, not just as their Priestess, but her opinions on the more practical matters had become indispensable too. But all that was a long time ago now---she'd drifted from the Guild for obvious reasons, though she was still bound to them. That's exactly why they were here now.
"Mat', we need t' call upon yo' t' be dere when de Carcoccia is handed over."
"Why?" She picked up the spoon from the counter, snatching at it in display of how relied they'd got her, intending to go back to her cooking.
"Yaw de Guild's High Priestess, Mattie. O' course we need yo' t' be dere. Yaw de only one who 'as de knowledge on dis t'ing."
"An' what makes yo' t'ink I know squat 'bout it?" She replied sternly before turning back to the cooker and plunging the spoon back in, stirring with exaggerated movements.
"Don' try an' play us Mattie," Thierry cut in, "We know yo' can at least conjure a---a containin' spell should dis t'ing play holy hell. We need any guard we can against de possibility o' dem usin' it on our clan once dey got dere paws on it."
"I guess dat's a risk yo' jus' gonna have t' take, 'cause Mattie ain't gettin' involved in dis," She shook her head, the beads banging on her back. "No Sir-rie!"
"Look Mat'," Jean-Luc began, as diplomatically as he could, "Yo' swore an' oath o' loyalty to Clan LeBeau an' de Thieves Guild, yo' can't jus' pick an' choose when it suit yo', girl." He took a small step into the kitchen and even that was enough to have him almost on top of her, there was so little space. "So I'm gonna 'ask' yo' once again, as our High Priestess, will yo' be there t' fulfil yaw duty t' protect our Guild?"
Mattie had long since stopped stirring the pot, but her hand gripped tensely to the spoon as below the sauce boiled and popped loudly, sending flushes of steam up into her face; little flicks of the sauce stinging at her lower arm. Finally she turned, just to face him over her shoulder, "An' if I refuse, Jean? What den?"
"Well den yo' leave me no uddah choice." He said seriously, his timbre deep and steady as he absently shifted his weight. "As de Patriarch I would have t' pass de Official Decree over yo'---one way or de uddah, yaw gonna be dere." An air of a stand-off passed between them, until Jean-Luc began to move away, heading back out the door. "Dat's not de way I want it Mat', but I got mor' responsibilities dan preservin' what's left o' our friendship. I got de lives o' hundreds---all o' dem countin' on me t' do what's right by dem. Countin' on me t' protect dem." He didn't stop in his stride over to the lounge exit as he called back, "I only hope yo' come t' de righ' decision---fo' all o' us." Thierry was close behind, leaving Tantie Mattie to her conscience.
* * *
The Amazon, outside of Naroapa Impokiro...
There were no sounds of explosions, no red cloud, no invasive stench. All was blank, cold and wet. Ororo tried to move but for a moment found that she was unable to, her arms and legs splayed into uneasy positions. She felt hard, random surfaces prodding into the front of her body from underneath, only slowly coming to the realisation that they were rocks. And that odd feeling, the fast flutter over her left arm that was rapidly turning it numb, she eventually came to understand that it was running water. It made her feel a rare chill. Prying her eyes open, the first few attempts proving abortive, she could just make out the faint glimmer on the surface of the stream as it rolled over the rocks and her out flung limb. Pulling her head up from the cushion of moss that had served as her pillow, she was thankful that she could not have come down that hard.
Gradually sensation returned, although her limbs still felt weak, like she'd been put through a wringer...one hundred times over. Pushing herself up onto her hands and knees, she began to adjust her eyes to the darkness; holding her body still for a moment to make sure she would be steady when she stood, checking for broken bones as much as she could. Nothing felt seriously damaged and she'd had enough experience with serious damage to know, but she'd certainly suffered some server bangs on her hasty decent. A noise?---she was soon broken from her musing, her head snapping up to look into the darkness when a strangled groan broke through the forest sounds.
"Remy?"
The strangled sound came again, more of a splutter, but this time she was prepared for it and concentrating, getting a swift lock on where it was coming from. Carefully Ororo moved towards it, making her way practically blindly over the slippery and awkward rocks. But on her way her foot kicked against something that moved far too easily for it to have been one on of the weightier boulders. It seemed hollow and not quite as substantial as everything else around her. As her eyes became keen to the sombre light, she could just about make out the edge of it. It was the box. Tentatively she kneeled to pick it up, hoping against hope that it had not been damaged upon impact. Wet, slightly shaking hands clasped around it, feeling at the distinctive ridges and she found herself holding her breath as she lifted it from the bank of the stream; its fairly insubstantial weight hiding its significance.
"'Roro..."
"I am here Remy." She called out to him, clutching the box even closer to her chest as she moved steadily towards his voice, slicing through dark like a hot knife through butter.
*
Remy dragged himself forwards, practically lolloping, just about managing to stand upright but his right leg was lame and heavy like a dead weight. It caught on everything as he tried to walk, supporting his stance by grabbing blindly at anything in front of him, heaving his boy forwards with it. He could hear a frantic splashing, heading towards him and was eternally grateful for he was very nearly at the point of collapse. It wasn't so much the falling to earth; apart from the leg he had escaped miraculously without serious injury, just cuts and bruises. Not that they told much over the top of the patch work of battery that was his skin at the moment. But he still felt drained from his contact with the box, as if he were in the grips of a ferocious fever.
"Stormy...I'm 'ere." The black shadow of Ororo's silhouette began to distinguish itself to him before he collapsed to his knees, unable to support himself any more; the sensation suddenly a damn sight worse. He grabbed hold of something, flinging his left arm out and grabbing the large curving root of a tree, exposed by the elements and eroding forest floor. His head bowed as his breathing became shallow and quicker.
Ororo sort him out finally, discerning his figure kneeling at the foot of a tree. "Are you hurt?" She asked immediately as she fairly flopped down onto her knees in front of him, setting the box to the side momentarily. Softly she took his face in her hands, pulling it back up; being able to make out the two burning circles of crimson, demon's flames. "Remy, are you hurt?" She repeated; her majestic voice as tender as he'd ever heard it.
"Remy's alrigh'---it jus' my leg. But do me a favour, hien?" He laughed shortly as he fell down to his haunches, almost falling back completely were it not for Ororo's hold on him, forcing her to come forwards.
"What?"
"Get dat t'ing away from me." It had been coming from the box all along. With his wry sense of humour, the wily ol' Cajun couldn't help but see the irony in that.
"Get what---the Carcoccia?" She glanced down at it by her knees and then back at Remy, who simply nodded in confirmation, his heavy lids closing, almost too weak for words. Then, inevitably, he did collapse down, finding it unbearable as he slumped forwards into Ororo's arms, a maelstrom coursing through him.
Storm caught Remy to her, falling back against the bank of the stream as she held him. She pulled her arms tighter about him, cradling the back of his head in her hands as he lay against her breast, not sure if he was still conscious or not. They were in deep trouble and she knew it. Closing her azure eyes she leant her head back against the root Remy had formally been holding onto. No maps, no supplies, not even the basics---just the clothes on their backs. Days away from 'civilisation'...Superheroes or not, they were in it up to their necks.
* * *
Sometime later...
It was early morning but the unusual below-canopy dark still persisted. Her whole body screamed at her to stop but she would not yield to its plea, forging on with the practically dead weight of her comrade on one side and the awkward shape of the very relic they'd risked so much for, tucked under her other arm. Remy was trying, she had to give him that but he was almost unconscious again and she didn't want to have to resort to dragging him along. Her energy was zapped enough.
"Jus' leave me..." She heard him half mumble for the umpteenth time---each time he said it she simply readjusted her hold on him, gripping him tighter as his arm slunk loosely across her back, his hand hanging limp over her opposite shoulder. She tried to quicken their pace, not sure where they were heading, just constantly moving, that was all that mattered. For she knew if she were to stop, she would drop. Ororo had pushed herself to the limit many a time before but now she was so far past it that it wasn't even on the horizon any more. What was it long distance runners harped on about when talking about endurance? Hitting a wall? If Ororo had hit that and gotten through it, it must have been forged from damn adamantium.
In the back of her mind she knew all it would take would be a simple thought, a mental distress beckon but she had not the strength needed to send it. But perhaps it wasn't just that, perhaps pride came into it somewhere too. She couldn't bring herself to call upon the X-Men to help her...not yet. Things would have to get much worse before she would capitulate. But her energy ebbed and waned as she stumbled on; practically resorting to throwing their weight forwards with each quick step, only to almost fall, rest for a moment, before repeating the process again. This couldn't go on much longer...How much worse would things have to get?
"Hold on for me Remy...please..." She pleaded almost silently as she faced yet another literal wall of Terre Verte flowing upwards; no end in sight to their onward march. The cold water of the stream lashed at their legs as they skirted its edge, occasionally swaying into it as they followed it along in the vain hope it would lead them to somewhere...anywhere...
"Huurrooff!" Ororo's foot slipped, throwing them off balance. She tried her best to stop them from falling but her body was simply too weak. The strain finally told; as they tumbled towards earth, coming to an undignified stop in the cool mud tinged water.
"I tol' you 'Ro...get yo'self outta 'ere..." His face lay almost half submerged in the lapping rolls of water as he opened his eyes long enough to see Storm struggling to get to her feet, only just being able to get onto her hands and knees. She shook her head defiantly, the chocolaty water dripping from her.
"Remy," She half gasped as she tried to pull them back to their feet, "If we can hold our own against the likes of Apocalypse and Galactus, why should something as 'trivial' as this be the end of us?---Ahh!" They fell back down again; Ororo dropping both Remy and the box. She was on her knees, breathing in heavy and shattered, her chest heaving as she tilted her face to the skies. "By the Goddess...please help us..." Her eyelids slid slowly down as she felt all hope and reason running away fast like the waters around them. She had to try to reach the Institute, even if it meant passing out from the effort. "Professor..." She whispered weakly, letting out an equally tired laugh lest she cry instead. All beneath her eyelids suddenly blazoned red, as if the sun was rising and she was staring directly into its emerging face. She could feel herself smile as it grew brighter, her mind not registering why. A sign of anything, anything at all would have helped her spirit by now; a soul not accustomed to defeat almost wanted to throw in the towel.
A soft chug began, somewhere far away, light and plumy, making Ororo's distracted mind focus in on it. Then a distant grumble, distinct from all else the forest had to offer. She let her head drop, her eyes opening as a concentrated air came over her face, her brow furrowing. Suddenly she sprung to her feet, finding the will from where she knew not. That sound, that sound was mechanical...
As she scrambled up to the incline close to them, falling several times as she frantically clawed her way up it the light that had flowed over the bank and down onto them in the stream lit up everything like a car head- light. One last pull and she was at the top; the cause of the muddy sediment in the water down where Remy still lay, teetering on the edge, clear to her now.
She found herself at the edge of a river, the light coming down its broad milkshake stretch that chopped in the wake of intrusion. With relief, but mainly diminished energy, Ororo fell down, one hand held up just about.
"Help..." She had no idea whether she mouthed the word or spoke it, let alone shouted it as the beam became an unfocused splotch in her vision, finally blanking out as it came too near, or she passed out...
-TBC-
Chapter.12.
The Yolocan-Uato Temple...
Both of Ororo's hands held as tightly as they could onto Remy's left one but she wasn't sure how much longer she could keep it that way. Her head was spinning, consciousness threatening to leave her at any moment as the unbearable fumes began to consume and envelope her. She tried her best not to look down as her legs flailed beneath her, keeping her eyes on Remy's arm as every muscle and tendon within it stood in relief against the skin, straining to keep a hold of her as his other arm hooked around the column; the dark streak of blood staining the cinnamon skin, still weeping lazily from the wound she'd placed there.
Remy knew he was pushing his body to breaking point but somewhere inside he found it within him to carry on. But he needed that bit extra to pull this off and he was determined to plumb the very depths to find it. He wasn't going to lose his Stormy here, like this---not today.
"GgggrrrrrrrrraaaAAH!" With everything he had and then some, Remy heaved himself against the column, just enough to get his left foot onto the edge of the door. Once he had it over the thresh hold he simultaneously flipped his body around and threw himself to the ground so that he now lay against it with both arms hanging off the edge; immediately Ororo had the courage to loosen the grip of her left hand and catch it instead to his free right one. It had been a gamble; the second he'd let go of that column to turn down to the ground he knew that Storm's weight on his left arm could very well have dragged them both down into a fiery exit. That gamble had paid off, sure---but they were not out of the woods just yet.
"I got yo' chèrie!" His voice was strained in his throat as he began to pull her up, this time every cord and muscle on his upper body standing out with the pressure. "Huuurrraaarrrghhhh!" With a forceful tug he pitched his body up, managing to get onto his knees and pulling Ororo up some more; her head reaching over the level of what was once the floor. It was just the opening she needed to gather all of the strength that she could muster.
"Let go of my left hand."
Remy did so, trusting her to know what she was doing. As soon as he released it, it left her free to grab onto the bottom of the opposite column; thrusting herself up and taking hold of it as far around as she could. He then reached down with his free hand and grabbed the biggest handful of her trousers and belt that he could and simply heaved her up to safety; collapsing back as she pitched forwards onto him. Finally out of harms way. Remy didn't rest though until he had dragged her further down the passage way that they were in now, as far as he could get them away from the edge, until he collapsed back. Both splayed on the ground.
*
Ororo lay flat on the uneven floor, heaving her breaths as her whole body trembled from its core with sheer exhaustion. The ground scratched at her skin but she didn't care. Even if she'd have been capable of moving under her own volition, she seriously doubted whether she'd want to at this moment. But that decision was soon taken from her.
Remy may have been as utterly worn as Ororo but he found it in him somewhere to scramble over to her, hands and knees to pull her up into his arms. An unequalled experience he feared he'd never have the chance to do again. The gravity of that realisation may have weighed on him, may have made him feel sick to the stomach---but it had helped clarify things for him too.
He held her to him now, his arms hooked beneath hers, wrapped around her back with a tight possessiveness as she lay against his body as limp as a rag doll---wanting to hold him just as tightly but presently lacking the physical will to do so. His hands scrunched into balls, fisting up her torn shirt as his cheek pressed against the side of her head; offering silent prayer to her Goddess for keeping Storm safe for him. He'd never been one to believe in anything of that nature but at that point he may very well have believed in anything and indeed everything.
"Mon chèrie..." Remy whispered close to her ear, his voice rasping and warm against her. He could feel the tremble of her body and soon realised that it was his too; quaking in his love. The relief, fear and weariness. Finally he pulled back, moving his hands around to cup her face, first pressing a kiss to one soot stained cheek, marked with the salty, clear tracks of tears that he could taste on his dry lips when he touched his tongue to them. Then he moved to her other cheek, and then her closed eyelid with its long curling sweep of ebony, and then her forehead, her nose, until he found himself littering her face with soft but somehow frantic kisses. All the time he murmured to her in his low, comforting drawl, over and over again, in between each heart-felt osculation, "Ma Tempête Angélique...ma Tempêter..." Hushed words he hadn't used to her for years caressed her as much as his hands and his kisses, rousing her, giving her the fortitude to respond.
Storm brought her hands up to cup his face in mirror of the way his gently supported hers, pressing a kiss to his chin from her lower position, rough against her lips, as was the dimple, just past his mouth, at the left side of his face. "Remy..." Her voice quivered, as quickly, her at first light kisses became as insistent as his now were, showering him with equal fervour. "My friend...my love..."
Remy broke from her, tilting her head back gently, his face still close to hers; two figures in the acid glow of a volcano's inferno coming from far down the passageway. He ran a thumb along her cheek bone, smudging the soot. "Ma l'amour..."
This time there was no reason for hesitation, no doubt...Remy pressed his lips to hers and she came to him willingly, lost in him instantly. As he was in her. He parted her mouth and then drew his top lip over her bottom one, tasting it lightly, taking his time to savour his first true feel of her. He let go then, slowly, to take her whole mouth once more, lovely caressing it. She sighed into it and he took the gentle gust, drinking her in, her very essence; the rain, the winds, the lightening spark that caused fire. The kiss deepened and it burned between them.
Ororo moved her hands up, sinking them into his hair, gripping at the thick tussle of his auburn locks; the soft spice of him mingled with the bitter- sweet salt of sweat, making her yearn for him more. They delved into each other; fierce and tender. For the first time this was truly real for her...the first time it was real for both of them...
Slowly they broke apart, each taking one or two last hungry tastes until they rested; their foreheads leant against other in a steeple, hands hooked about each others necks, breaths panting. White light began to radiate from their left, the source unknown but enough to pull them back to the present. It came from the top of a set of steps that they hadn't even realised where there; so lost in each other, abandoned in solace and ardour. They turned their heads towards it as it appeared to grow brighter, all outside information falling to the peripheries; scent, sound, sensation...everything.
Remy pulled back from her, his hand slipping down, absently clasping to one of Ororo's as he began to stand up, drawn by this unnatural aurora that sung without a voice. She allowed herself to be righted by him, apart from the light the only other thing to register in her mind being the clammy, reassuring grasp of his hand over hers. In a trance like state, they moved forwards as one, following the evanescent glow as it receded back, as if its sole purpose for existence was to beckon them to whatever awaited at the summit of the stairs.
*
The epicentre of the Temple of Yolocan-Uato...
The light sunk back, low in the room, a sphere in the centre point. The vast power of a star, contained within its own universe here on earth. Remy and Ororo stepped into its domain, finally their wears coming back to them, their senses revived. As they came through the arching doorway wit the ridged jamb, directly opposite them was the face, the face of the keeper of the temple that they had witnessed from the outside but were now seeing from its inward indentation; the eyes opening out like windows onto the starry stretch of nocturnal blankness. It was funny; inside they felt as if they were a million miles away from this world, when death seemed immanent but all the while here it was, merely a walls width away. Even the rage of the volcano below and the tremor of its physical anger had vanished to their minds, though it still remained. Simply contained. But for how long? They had not the time to dwell.
As they walked stiffly into the space there was nothing in this hollowed room save for themselves and the light that continued to fade yet somehow exude its luminosity, eventually revealing its secret to the adventurers. As it grew smaller and smaller, the sharp outline of several figures emerged from its consuming embrace; revealing their forms from the blinding white. The ridged lines showed them to be held in the same kind of immortal death state as the ones encountered hours ago on the streets of the captivating lost city. As the light pulled back further, like a receding the tides of the ocean, there were four of them in total. Caught in the dramatic stance of an anonymous history painting. Three were as utterly indistinguishable as the many soldiers that ran through the streets in their imperialistic terrorising, but there was one that appeared grander than these other mere plebs.
Remy let go of Ororo's hand, stepping forwards toward the slim plinth that sat in the direct centre of the head of Yolocan-Uato. The great warrior goddess of the Yaitata'í People. Toward her heart, her essence he travelled, unawares. But he felt it as sure as anything. A rabid clamouring that rendered him helpless in her presence. Storm watched him go, wordless in recognition of the pull of what showed itself to be the simple humble semblance of a small box from beneath the white glow as with the sudden suck and *whoosh* of an implosion, the light was sucked into a vacuum. A simple dark box that's pattern mimicked the intricate design of the city that was built to contain and indeed worship it. That was all the earthly remnants that remained of an awesome power.
Gambit was upon it now, looming over it; all light gone but still remaining to guide his way. The room was filled with it but it resonated from nowhere. The fourth figure was there---opposite the X-Man like an erstwhile chess opponent, defying him to make his move. Dressed in all the splendour of a General, the thick luxurious drape of his cape with its golden clasps at each shoulder obvious even in their ashen form, he stood, his hands on the box, held around each edge; his foolishness obvious, allowing Remy Etienne LeBeau, five hundred years later, to learn from his mistake.
Harsh like the raging thrash of the Mississippi his breathing seemed, for it filled his senses as he reached down to the box that was no bigger than four inches by four, his devils orbs locked with the white death of this unknown invader. Such magnitude contained within such minutiae. He could feel it, couldn't help but lick his lips at the tantalising prospect of laying his hands upon it. The bead of salt ran, coursing down the contours, falling from the tip.
They were near now, his hands, the black leather practically melted to them, a second tougher skin. Almost there, the vaunted prize his and for this moment his alone. Such grandeur---the Master Thief and his Ultimate Prize. He couldn't distinguish the sensation in him as that born of the thrill of acquisition or the burning that plagued him more now than it had previously. His lips parted, his tongue curled, held between two rows of straight white teeth, breath in stasis, frozen in his throat. Remy touched the box...
"ARGH!"
Like the jolt of a thousand bolts ripping through his system, Gambit was thrown forwards across the room, smashing through the ghost that confronted him and falling at the face of the idol of the temple. Stunned for a moment, he quickly righted himself into a sitting position and attempted to shake his head of the feeling, but it persisted. The savage flare that had nestled in the heat more pronounced than ever. For a moment he would have sworn it was the lava that had replaced his blood; the box a transfusion.
Ororo didn't move in reaction to this, moreover the captivation of the object enough to entice her towards it; a strange lack of concern overcoming her for what had just happened. When she did move, she only vaguely noticed Remy stirring at the edge of her vision. But that small action made her stop---with all the will she had left to her, wrenching herself from the relic's power.
"Remy? Are you okay?"
Remy laughed wearily, his eyebrows creased as he pushed himself up further to lean against the wall properly, not slumped as he was. "Yah..." He shook his head vigorously, attempting to rid it of the wringing that persisted. "Sapristi!" For a reason unknown to the watching Storm, he brought his hands up before him, convinced he would see flames rising from their palms and finger tips. When he looked over their tops, moving his gaze slowly past them he was just in time to see Ororo advancing on the plinth. "What're yo' doin' girl?"
Ororo looked over to him, her expression curious yet knowing, "What do you think?" She saw his mouth open sharply, ready to protest but too late. She closed her hands around the labyrinthine ridged darkness of the box.
Nothing.
Her fingers crept further around it until they touched each other around the back; encompassed in the sure cups of her palms. She looked up at Remy, taking her eyes from the box for a moment and smiled; instantly he recognised it. He knew the feelings coursing though her as sure as he was feeling them himself. It was true---they were the same creature; the thief at the heart of both of them. He returned the sentiment.
"Huh!" He huffed mockingly, "De 'Red Sonja' effect, non?" Ororo gave him a confused look to which he waved an exhausted hand. "Not int' de Arnie back- catalogue, hien? Nevah mind."
Ororo flicked her eyes to the heavens briefly; only Remy could entertain humour at such moments. Well, perhaps Bobby too. "Whatever 'effect' it is," She began, focusing on the box again as she readied herself to lift it, "It appears it is more favourable to my handling than yours."
"Dat's exactly what I meant chère."
Ignoring him, Storm leaned forwards into the plinth, holding the tense position of an animal about to make its escape. Remy pushed himself to his feet; still uncertain on them after his shock and even more so about Ororo's imminent actions. At first his body failed him; the inferno within him, bridling. He tried again and this time succeeded, taking hold of the concaved curve of the statues gracious lips as the dark cube was raised.
An instant explosion. The pungent smell of sulphur.
As soon as Ororo had removed the Carcoccia from its resting place the light that filled the room was extinguished as if doused with the flooding rains of the forest around them. All that had held it over the many years was finally knocked loose.
"I fear we have removed the lynch-pin." Ororo conceded as she looked about her, as did Remy; the three still figures left crumbling as the whole building started to shake anew. Or maybe it had never ceased...
Remy pushed himself forwards to relinquish the support of the wall and make his way over to her as she began to back away from the centre of the room; box firmly in hand, struggling to keep her balance as familiar reverberations racked the building. They knew immediately that it would not be standing for much longer, the force far greater, if that were indeed possible, than before. Whatever energy that resided within this box that they had removed was all that was keeping the stability of the temple at one with the force that raged beneath it, all that was containing it. What they had suffered below was simply a warning. They soon realised they had pushed matters too far...
"We gotta get outta 'ere." Remy stated the obvious as the first cracks began to appear on the façade of the inside of the idols head. It would only be a matter of time before everything fell about and beneath them.
*KKKRRASSHASASAKKKCRRRKK!*
A large chunk of the forehead broke away and crashed to the ground on their right, the light grey stone scattering across the floor. Instantly Ororo knew what to do---fight or flight instincts rushing in, along with years of battle experience. And this, for all her mastery [sic] of nature, was a time of flight, in the truest sense of the word.
"Hold onto me!" She told Remy; running over to him with the box safely clasped in her hands. As she met him, he wrapped his arms around her waist; a lover's sure embrace. But he almost reeled back; the box repelling him from her proximity. Never-the-less, he held onto her tight, fighting against the burn; the siphoning drain.
Ororo's head titled back, her eyes the preternatural white of her powers and the slim tendrils of lightening sparked with the whip of psionically induced winds. The temple began to disintegrate in earnest by this time; gargantuan pieces of the head falling down; in on itself and outside, onto the city below. But Storm did not wait for an opening to be presented to her, she would not risk it. She took matters into her own hands, putting a great deal of effort into channelling the energy of a low pressure system passing above; unfortunately the removal of the cities time pocket had brought upon it all the natural pressures of the forest beyond its walls and the volcano's tree-swamped sloping sides. She found herself once again struggling with the tremendous and strong Amazon for control of the weather. But, gritting her teeth and with all her might, she managed it; making the pressure system collide with a warm slip stream from the west, coming in from the Pacific. A storm cloud brewed and as the winds she had summoned began to lift the pair from the ground, a spiked shard of electric blue lightening ripped through the ceiling, opening up for them an easy escape route.
Beneath them the lava had become free to roam---no longer a 'mystical mistress' to keep it in check. The thick smoke and steam began to fill the likeness of Yolocan-Uato; the white-hot malt would not be far behind them. This time it would not be tame in its fervour, nor the destruction it would wreak...
High, high, high and fast, Ororo raised them, out now on her winds into the warm air, the spit of rain beginning from her black cloud. The acuity of her powers focused everything within her for now; the insistent press of his body to hers, strong hands and muscular arms inspiring her to take them from danger. Like a shooting star, they left a visible jet stream in their wake.
Only Remy had opportunity to look back on what they were fast leaving behind. Watching as the entire temple glowed through the spectrum, not just red and orange, but gold and yellow, blue, purple and everything in between.
"I don' mean to hurry yo' girl, but I t'ink we bedduh high-tail it a bit quicker dan dis." Just as he bellowed this to her over nature's un- malicious rancour, the top finally broke; spewing forth the furious red into the air and in all other directions. The updraft of which collided with Storm's wind, knocking her out of control. She still tried, desperately, to hold on but it was of no use. The heat of the air rushing upwards sent them flying haphazardly into the night, flailing into chaos. Storm was able to keep her grip on Remy and the box as far as clearing the rim of the volcano; witnessing only fleetingly as the jet of lava flew up into the navy blue of the night sky that was rapidly filling with a thick grey cloud of smoke, lit from beneath with the fires. Pouring up in a painfully magnificent display, before flowing down, wiping out the buildings that had been preserved forever; the last to see them before the hot torrent took them away.
They were over the volcano's edge now, coming down a little too quickly onto the canopy of the trees, spiralling down, almost completely in free- fall by now. But Storm managed to maintain control for long enough to at least soften the blow of their imminent landing, a five hundred foot descent, which would have otherwise killed them both. That did not mean though that it was smooth; almost as disastrous as expected as they smashed through the top layer off trees, breaking apart as they did so to fall to earth separately. They had absolutely no protection as branches whacked into them, going too fast to be able to catch hold of them and slow their rapid descent. Neither of them was aware of where the other was as they both crashed into the dark of the forest floor, though their minds were on each other and not themselves. As the impact happened they were not sure weather the blackness beneath the canopy was the terminal fold of death as their consciousness slipped away, mercifully before either of them felt the pain they knew was surely coming.
* * *
New Orleans, Louisiana...
The unassuming black jeep came to a halt on the baron mud patch at the front of the small swamp side dwelling. As always the frogs croaked and the marshy land shimmered with minute activity; the sharp slam of the driver and passenger doors cutting through the sounds of wilderness in the New Orleans night. Jean-Luc LeBeau stood for a moment by the driver door he'd just climbed out of, looking at the ball of yellow light that spilled from the open porch screen door, splintering through the hanging ceramic beads.
Thierry Mauvais stopped close to the porch, having quickly approached it, a short walk away. "What's wrong?" He asked impatiently as he turned to his leader, "Yo' comin' in or no'?"
"Oui." He replied almost thoughtfully and then started over to the house, but as he neared his Chief Advisor he held a hand up to him as if to say stop, seeing that he was turning to enter, "Yo' wait out 'ere fo' a min'ue homme. Wait in de ride." He pushed back the screen door, the springs squealing in protest, "I'll call if I need yo'."
Mauvais didn't bother to protest, simply turning on his heal and heading back for the jeep, grabbing hold of the top bar and climbing into it rather than opening the door, whilst a somewhat subdued Jean-Luc entered Tantie Mattie's home alone.
*
The thick intoxicating cooking aroma of Jambalaya filled the hallway of the small shack. The homely smell that wafted from the doorway at the far end, weaving with the ever-present musk of incense, making him feel comfortable as he always did when he came to see Mattie; memories of safer, maybe rose- tinted days recalled. But he was still on edge---the purpose of his visit wasn't going to sit well with her, he knew immediately. As far as his son was concerned there had always been and would always be a bone of contention between the two of them. Indeed, it had already driven a wedge between the pair, as well as Mattie and the Thieves Guild as a whole. This latest situation wasn't going to do too much to heal that ever widening rift. As he passed through the doorway he didn't pay too much attention to the photograph pinned to the wall, close to it. Not wanting to be reminded right now of happier and more innocent, carefree times for his son. The precocious but unbelievably skilled little scamp that was going to be the greatest thief the Guild had ever seen, an heir apparent to the LeBeau throne, even above Henri, his own flesh and blood.
"I been wonderin' when yo' were gonna wing yaw way 'round 'ere Jean-Luc." As Jean-Luc entered the living room Tantie stepped out of the kitchen, emerging from a cloud of cooking steam, whipping her hands on the off-white cotton apron about her rotund waist. Her face had something of a red flush beneath the shinning ebony; clear to see as her thick mass of dreaded hair was pulled back into a pony tail at the nape of her neck. "Is he back yet?" She asked sternly, any lingering strand of friendship seemed to fade with each visit.
Jean-Luc shook his head, "Non...we ain't 'eard nuhddin yet."
"It been almos' a week Jean." She moved further into the room, going over to the antique set of draws with the bowing Queen Anne legs and opened the top one. Keeping a casual air to the meeting.
"I know it Mattie."
"Ain't yo' worried," She took out a box of thin red tapering candles, taking just one from the packet, "Or don' yo' care?"
Jean-Luc's face darkened as he stared at Mattie, for a moment offended that she could think such a thing of him, "'Course I do mon amie," He practically spat out, instantly goaded into defensive posturing. She always had a way of cutting through his steely, well worked restrained exterior, making him show how he really felt---as close friends often did. Even when you didn't want them to. But he didn't know if he could class her as such any longer, not anymore..."Yo' know 'ow much dat li'll swamp rat means t' me Mat'."
Mattie turned, glaring at him sharply, the jaundiced look of her wide eyes unsettling around the complete black of the irises. "Den why would yo' send him int' such danger? 'Cause it look t' me like yo' don' really care at all." She slammed the draw back shut, making the whole unit rattle against the wall.
"Dat ain't fair Mat', 'e knows I do. But yo' of all people know de position I'm in---."
"'He knows' does he?!" She shot back at him like an accusation, ignoring all else he had said. "Yo' might do bedduh t' remind him o' dat fact Jean. Yo' done nuhddin but hurt an' torment dat boy evah since yo' abandoned him."
"Abandoned 'im?!" Jean-Luc was incredulous by now, pacing to the centre of the room and then back again with a shake of his head. "Remy was de one who turned is back on us, if I remember righ'. He turned is back on dis Guild, on 'is family, all fo' de teenage fancy o' some blonde Assassin skirt. I can't be held responsible if my son choose t' t'ink wit' de contents o' 'is trousers rather dan 'is head when he made 'is choice."
Mattie felt her chest tighten with a rage she rarely felt, but she swallowed it down like the bitterest pill, doing a mental count to ten. She took in a shallow breath. "What about de contents o' his heart Jean," she said, offended by his complete lack of respect for Remy's feelings. "Or did the fact dat he loved Belle no' madduh?"
Jean-Luc huffed, poking his tongue into the side of cheek, "Love?" He shook his head and raised a dark brown brow at her. "Yo' t'ink dose two li'll pip- squeaks even knew de meanin' o' de word?" He stopped for a moment taking in a breath before going over to the couch and perching on its edge. Clasping his hands together loosely between his parted knees as he leant forwards slightly. He spoke quietly as he continued; his dark eyes to the floor. "Dey was jus' kids Mat'---li'll kids. Pups. He couldn' see dat all I was tryin' t' do was protect 'im. A Poppa jus' tryin' t' stop his damn-fool boy from makin' de biggest mistake o' 'is life. But 'e was jus' too damn stubborn t' see dat. He was de one who choose de hard way---no' me." Finally he raised his gaze again, fixing his friend, "No' me..." He repeated.
"Remy may have jus' been a kid Jean, but dat didn' stop yo' from treatin' him like an adult in de way dat yo' delivered yaw punishment, did it?"
"Dose was Guild rules mon amie," He couldn't stop himself from pointing an angry finger at Mattie. "---'e broke dem, 'e paid de price." Suddenly calmed, he added quietly, the guilt shinning through no matter how hard he tried to cover it. "Like I said---de 'ard way."
"I see, so yo' absolvin' yo'self all round den, hien?" Mattie shook her head at him in disbelief as she sat herself down on the easy chair opposite him; lowering herself carefully, as the joints in her swollen knees refused to yield lightly. They were always bad in the summer---especially at night. "So it was his fault de Guild cast him out on his own after givin' dem his everyt'in'---and de Guilds fault dat dey forced yaw hand in de madduh? Dear God, Jean-Luc LeBeau," It was her turn to show disbelief, "When are yo' gonna stand up an' take some responsibility fo' what yo' did t' yaw son's life?" She threw her hands up in the air, turning away from him like she didn't even care for what excuses he could muster up to defend himself, for as far as she was concerned, no reason in the world would be good enough. Standing up, she went over to one of the candles, fixed into a gleaming brass holder on the wall and touched the taper in her hand to its lively flame. She moved then, over to her small shrine table, lighting each one with the slim red stick of wax held in her hand. "Remy may 'ave turned out t' be a fine young man," She started with her back turned to him, "---a, good an' honourable young man, but dat ain't no t'anks t' yo'. He could 'ave destroyed himself over it---almos' did too, he made some bad decisions along de way---but he survived, he worked t'rough it. Found himself a life worth livin' fo' too. He don' need yo' an' dose men yo' choose t' call 'honourable' members o' de Thieves Guild t' mess dat up fo' him."
"Do yo' t'ink dat's what I want?" He finally got a word in edgeways after she'd finished her rant against him, "Do yo' t'ink any o' dis is what I want? I know Xavier's dream 'as given 'im back some self-respect, some self- worth---de las' t'ing I want is t' ruin dat fo' 'im. Bu' my hands are tied 'ere Mat'---dere ain't nuhddin I can do 'bout dis."
Mattie sighed impatiently as she lit the last candle of the bunch and then shook the taper quickly to extinguish its flame. "Dey may-well be, but yo' jus' bedduh pray t' de Lord dat de boy comes back safe. T'ings ain't quite rollin' his way like dey once were." She muttered the last bit, almost like she didn't want him to here but knowing that he would, causing Jean-Luc to give her a curious look.
"What yo ' mean, 'ain't quite rollin' 'is way'?"
Mattie placed the taper absently on the draw top with a light tap, looking at Jean-Luc over her shoulder, hesitating. Finally she turned to him fully, "Yo' mean Remy nevah tol' yo'?"
"Tol' me what Mattie?" He ground out slowly, his drawl thick.
It was too late to back-track now, but maybe it would do him good to know. "Remy ain't got his powers no more---he lost dem. I don' know how or when, but all I do know is dat...dey're gon'."
Jean-Luc stood up, his eyes and mind far off. "Why didn' he say somet'in'?"
"Perhaps he t'ought it wouldn' o' made a blind bit o difference." She countered somewhat snidely, surprising him a little. She headed back for the kitchen, shouting back over the bubbling of the Jambalaya on the stove, "Anyway, I'm sure yo' didn' drag yo'self all de way out 'ere jus' t' talk about de mistakes o' de past?"
"Non," He replied as he went over to the kitchen doorway, making a hasty cross over himself as he passed the table, thankful that the well-treaded conversation was over, he stood at the edge as Mattie stirred the pot, "--- but I t'ink yo' know what I am 'ere fo'."
She turned, banging the heavy wooden spoon on the rim of the pot to rid it of the excess before placing it down on the discoloured vinyl counter of the tiny room, next to the much-aged gas cooker. But she didn't look at Jean-Luc, her eyes travelled past him, focusing on something else. He turned, drawn to look at where she was.
"Yo' asked her yet, homme?" His tall, sandy-haired companion stood behind him, close to the easy chair.
"I t'ought I tol' yo' wait outside Thierry."
"Well I got sick o' waitin'---yo' know it cooler inside dan out righ' now." Thierry rubbed a white handkerchief about the nape of his neck a few times as he spoke, soaking up the moisture.
"'Ow long have yo' been standin' dere?"
"Long enough," He stated somewhat cryptically, "Yo' asked her?" He repeated, deflecting Jean-Luc's attention.
"I was jus' gettin' 'round t' it---fo' a thief yo' sure ain't got much patience."
Thierry gave him a sardonic look but said nothing as he tucked the now marked handkerchief into the pocket at the hip of his Guild uniform, next to where his scabbard would have been placed had he been wearing it.
Jean-Luc turned back to Mattie, for a moment he could have sworn he saw a scowl on her face. But that was nothing unusual; he'd always known that she didn't care too much for his Chief Advisor. She'd even tried to persuade him to change his mind on his choice when he first became the Patriarch of Clan LeBeau. But he'd been young and headstrong, perhaps thinking a little more sentimentally than pragmatically when he'd given the position to his best friend. There were perhaps ten other candidates that would have been more suited to the roll, but back then Jean-Luc listened to no-ones advise but his own. It had taken him years to give Mattie his ear faithfully, and when he had she became a valued member of the Clan, not just as their Priestess, but her opinions on the more practical matters had become indispensable too. But all that was a long time ago now---she'd drifted from the Guild for obvious reasons, though she was still bound to them. That's exactly why they were here now.
"Mat', we need t' call upon yo' t' be dere when de Carcoccia is handed over."
"Why?" She picked up the spoon from the counter, snatching at it in display of how relied they'd got her, intending to go back to her cooking.
"Yaw de Guild's High Priestess, Mattie. O' course we need yo' t' be dere. Yaw de only one who 'as de knowledge on dis t'ing."
"An' what makes yo' t'ink I know squat 'bout it?" She replied sternly before turning back to the cooker and plunging the spoon back in, stirring with exaggerated movements.
"Don' try an' play us Mattie," Thierry cut in, "We know yo' can at least conjure a---a containin' spell should dis t'ing play holy hell. We need any guard we can against de possibility o' dem usin' it on our clan once dey got dere paws on it."
"I guess dat's a risk yo' jus' gonna have t' take, 'cause Mattie ain't gettin' involved in dis," She shook her head, the beads banging on her back. "No Sir-rie!"
"Look Mat'," Jean-Luc began, as diplomatically as he could, "Yo' swore an' oath o' loyalty to Clan LeBeau an' de Thieves Guild, yo' can't jus' pick an' choose when it suit yo', girl." He took a small step into the kitchen and even that was enough to have him almost on top of her, there was so little space. "So I'm gonna 'ask' yo' once again, as our High Priestess, will yo' be there t' fulfil yaw duty t' protect our Guild?"
Mattie had long since stopped stirring the pot, but her hand gripped tensely to the spoon as below the sauce boiled and popped loudly, sending flushes of steam up into her face; little flicks of the sauce stinging at her lower arm. Finally she turned, just to face him over her shoulder, "An' if I refuse, Jean? What den?"
"Well den yo' leave me no uddah choice." He said seriously, his timbre deep and steady as he absently shifted his weight. "As de Patriarch I would have t' pass de Official Decree over yo'---one way or de uddah, yaw gonna be dere." An air of a stand-off passed between them, until Jean-Luc began to move away, heading back out the door. "Dat's not de way I want it Mat', but I got mor' responsibilities dan preservin' what's left o' our friendship. I got de lives o' hundreds---all o' dem countin' on me t' do what's right by dem. Countin' on me t' protect dem." He didn't stop in his stride over to the lounge exit as he called back, "I only hope yo' come t' de righ' decision---fo' all o' us." Thierry was close behind, leaving Tantie Mattie to her conscience.
* * *
The Amazon, outside of Naroapa Impokiro...
There were no sounds of explosions, no red cloud, no invasive stench. All was blank, cold and wet. Ororo tried to move but for a moment found that she was unable to, her arms and legs splayed into uneasy positions. She felt hard, random surfaces prodding into the front of her body from underneath, only slowly coming to the realisation that they were rocks. And that odd feeling, the fast flutter over her left arm that was rapidly turning it numb, she eventually came to understand that it was running water. It made her feel a rare chill. Prying her eyes open, the first few attempts proving abortive, she could just make out the faint glimmer on the surface of the stream as it rolled over the rocks and her out flung limb. Pulling her head up from the cushion of moss that had served as her pillow, she was thankful that she could not have come down that hard.
Gradually sensation returned, although her limbs still felt weak, like she'd been put through a wringer...one hundred times over. Pushing herself up onto her hands and knees, she began to adjust her eyes to the darkness; holding her body still for a moment to make sure she would be steady when she stood, checking for broken bones as much as she could. Nothing felt seriously damaged and she'd had enough experience with serious damage to know, but she'd certainly suffered some server bangs on her hasty decent. A noise?---she was soon broken from her musing, her head snapping up to look into the darkness when a strangled groan broke through the forest sounds.
"Remy?"
The strangled sound came again, more of a splutter, but this time she was prepared for it and concentrating, getting a swift lock on where it was coming from. Carefully Ororo moved towards it, making her way practically blindly over the slippery and awkward rocks. But on her way her foot kicked against something that moved far too easily for it to have been one on of the weightier boulders. It seemed hollow and not quite as substantial as everything else around her. As her eyes became keen to the sombre light, she could just about make out the edge of it. It was the box. Tentatively she kneeled to pick it up, hoping against hope that it had not been damaged upon impact. Wet, slightly shaking hands clasped around it, feeling at the distinctive ridges and she found herself holding her breath as she lifted it from the bank of the stream; its fairly insubstantial weight hiding its significance.
"'Roro..."
"I am here Remy." She called out to him, clutching the box even closer to her chest as she moved steadily towards his voice, slicing through dark like a hot knife through butter.
*
Remy dragged himself forwards, practically lolloping, just about managing to stand upright but his right leg was lame and heavy like a dead weight. It caught on everything as he tried to walk, supporting his stance by grabbing blindly at anything in front of him, heaving his boy forwards with it. He could hear a frantic splashing, heading towards him and was eternally grateful for he was very nearly at the point of collapse. It wasn't so much the falling to earth; apart from the leg he had escaped miraculously without serious injury, just cuts and bruises. Not that they told much over the top of the patch work of battery that was his skin at the moment. But he still felt drained from his contact with the box, as if he were in the grips of a ferocious fever.
"Stormy...I'm 'ere." The black shadow of Ororo's silhouette began to distinguish itself to him before he collapsed to his knees, unable to support himself any more; the sensation suddenly a damn sight worse. He grabbed hold of something, flinging his left arm out and grabbing the large curving root of a tree, exposed by the elements and eroding forest floor. His head bowed as his breathing became shallow and quicker.
Ororo sort him out finally, discerning his figure kneeling at the foot of a tree. "Are you hurt?" She asked immediately as she fairly flopped down onto her knees in front of him, setting the box to the side momentarily. Softly she took his face in her hands, pulling it back up; being able to make out the two burning circles of crimson, demon's flames. "Remy, are you hurt?" She repeated; her majestic voice as tender as he'd ever heard it.
"Remy's alrigh'---it jus' my leg. But do me a favour, hien?" He laughed shortly as he fell down to his haunches, almost falling back completely were it not for Ororo's hold on him, forcing her to come forwards.
"What?"
"Get dat t'ing away from me." It had been coming from the box all along. With his wry sense of humour, the wily ol' Cajun couldn't help but see the irony in that.
"Get what---the Carcoccia?" She glanced down at it by her knees and then back at Remy, who simply nodded in confirmation, his heavy lids closing, almost too weak for words. Then, inevitably, he did collapse down, finding it unbearable as he slumped forwards into Ororo's arms, a maelstrom coursing through him.
Storm caught Remy to her, falling back against the bank of the stream as she held him. She pulled her arms tighter about him, cradling the back of his head in her hands as he lay against her breast, not sure if he was still conscious or not. They were in deep trouble and she knew it. Closing her azure eyes she leant her head back against the root Remy had formally been holding onto. No maps, no supplies, not even the basics---just the clothes on their backs. Days away from 'civilisation'...Superheroes or not, they were in it up to their necks.
* * *
Sometime later...
It was early morning but the unusual below-canopy dark still persisted. Her whole body screamed at her to stop but she would not yield to its plea, forging on with the practically dead weight of her comrade on one side and the awkward shape of the very relic they'd risked so much for, tucked under her other arm. Remy was trying, she had to give him that but he was almost unconscious again and she didn't want to have to resort to dragging him along. Her energy was zapped enough.
"Jus' leave me..." She heard him half mumble for the umpteenth time---each time he said it she simply readjusted her hold on him, gripping him tighter as his arm slunk loosely across her back, his hand hanging limp over her opposite shoulder. She tried to quicken their pace, not sure where they were heading, just constantly moving, that was all that mattered. For she knew if she were to stop, she would drop. Ororo had pushed herself to the limit many a time before but now she was so far past it that it wasn't even on the horizon any more. What was it long distance runners harped on about when talking about endurance? Hitting a wall? If Ororo had hit that and gotten through it, it must have been forged from damn adamantium.
In the back of her mind she knew all it would take would be a simple thought, a mental distress beckon but she had not the strength needed to send it. But perhaps it wasn't just that, perhaps pride came into it somewhere too. She couldn't bring herself to call upon the X-Men to help her...not yet. Things would have to get much worse before she would capitulate. But her energy ebbed and waned as she stumbled on; practically resorting to throwing their weight forwards with each quick step, only to almost fall, rest for a moment, before repeating the process again. This couldn't go on much longer...How much worse would things have to get?
"Hold on for me Remy...please..." She pleaded almost silently as she faced yet another literal wall of Terre Verte flowing upwards; no end in sight to their onward march. The cold water of the stream lashed at their legs as they skirted its edge, occasionally swaying into it as they followed it along in the vain hope it would lead them to somewhere...anywhere...
"Huurrooff!" Ororo's foot slipped, throwing them off balance. She tried her best to stop them from falling but her body was simply too weak. The strain finally told; as they tumbled towards earth, coming to an undignified stop in the cool mud tinged water.
"I tol' you 'Ro...get yo'self outta 'ere..." His face lay almost half submerged in the lapping rolls of water as he opened his eyes long enough to see Storm struggling to get to her feet, only just being able to get onto her hands and knees. She shook her head defiantly, the chocolaty water dripping from her.
"Remy," She half gasped as she tried to pull them back to their feet, "If we can hold our own against the likes of Apocalypse and Galactus, why should something as 'trivial' as this be the end of us?---Ahh!" They fell back down again; Ororo dropping both Remy and the box. She was on her knees, breathing in heavy and shattered, her chest heaving as she tilted her face to the skies. "By the Goddess...please help us..." Her eyelids slid slowly down as she felt all hope and reason running away fast like the waters around them. She had to try to reach the Institute, even if it meant passing out from the effort. "Professor..." She whispered weakly, letting out an equally tired laugh lest she cry instead. All beneath her eyelids suddenly blazoned red, as if the sun was rising and she was staring directly into its emerging face. She could feel herself smile as it grew brighter, her mind not registering why. A sign of anything, anything at all would have helped her spirit by now; a soul not accustomed to defeat almost wanted to throw in the towel.
A soft chug began, somewhere far away, light and plumy, making Ororo's distracted mind focus in on it. Then a distant grumble, distinct from all else the forest had to offer. She let her head drop, her eyes opening as a concentrated air came over her face, her brow furrowing. Suddenly she sprung to her feet, finding the will from where she knew not. That sound, that sound was mechanical...
As she scrambled up to the incline close to them, falling several times as she frantically clawed her way up it the light that had flowed over the bank and down onto them in the stream lit up everything like a car head- light. One last pull and she was at the top; the cause of the muddy sediment in the water down where Remy still lay, teetering on the edge, clear to her now.
She found herself at the edge of a river, the light coming down its broad milkshake stretch that chopped in the wake of intrusion. With relief, but mainly diminished energy, Ororo fell down, one hand held up just about.
"Help..." She had no idea whether she mouthed the word or spoke it, let alone shouted it as the beam became an unfocused splotch in her vision, finally blanking out as it came too near, or she passed out...
-TBC-