Chapter Seven: The Eye of the Storm
"You say you can know almost everything that happens on the planet," Ana asked. "How is that?"
"Magic and technology, combined, are quite powerful," Marty replied.
"Really," she asked, not entirely believing him. She had known Marty for five years, since she'd been searching for her father's work. And during that time, she would never have suspected that he had another, secret life. That he was involved in something that was so … big, confounded her. Searching through what was left of their camp, she tried to think of anything that she had missed, anything that would have led her to think that there was something he was hiding. But, try as she might, there was nothing.
"You don't believe in magic," Marty asked, surprised. "Even after what you've seen last night?"
"No," Ana replied.
"It exists," Bishop said gruffly, squatting nearby.
"Believe him," Celeste said, overhearing the conversation. "I haven't been an X-Man as long as he, Scott or Kurt, but I've seen things that are entirely supernatural."
"Magical and supernatural forces are not necessarily the same thing," Marty corrected her.
"Same difference, mate," she replied indifferently.
"Ana," Joey called. He'd suddenly remembered something she had said the night before. "Wasn't there something you wanted to show us?"
She stood up, stiff, her eyes wide, like a deer in headlights, dread washing over her as she remembered the dig site. "Shit!" She ran past him, hoping against hope that it hadn't been disturbed by the creatures. It was both hers, and her father's life work; if it was destroyed, there would be no way to prove his theories correct. He would be regarded as nothing more than an eccentric. Reaching the edge of the excavation, she shrieked in anger and disappointment.
The entire dig site had been destroyed. The tarps covering the excavations had been ripped up, the areas beneath trodden down beneath hundreds of xenomorphic feet. Walking into the dig, she held her hand over her mouth in shock, realizing all the proof had been destroyed. She knelt down to where the lycanthropic skull had been, finding innumerable shards of white bone. She sat down in the dirt, sighing in defeat. "Fuck," she whispered exasperatedly.
"Ana," Joey asked softly. She looked up at him, his large body squatting beside her.
"I'll be okay," she replied softly. "It's just my life's work," she added, a note of hysteria entering her voice.
"You know," Marty said, stepping next to them, "if it's any consolation, you were right, Ana."
"About what," she asked, looking up.
"About everything," he replied.
"E…Everything," she rhetorically asked. It took her a moment to synthesize what he just said. "You knew? All this time? And you never said anything?" She stood up, not realizing that the armor had receded, her eyes blazing. "Why didn't you ever tell me?"
"Because I wasn't able to," he responded.
"And now you can?"
"Yes," he hesitated.
"What changed, Marty," she asked, her voice cold, almost emotionless.
"I had to make sure you were who I thought you were," he replied.
"And who is that?"
"Someone important," he replied.
"What exactly does that mean," she asked, annoyed at his constant evasion.
"I'll explain it in due time. But, right now, I think I should explain what happened here so long ago," Marty responded. "Because it does have to do with what is happening now."
"What is happening now," she asked.
"We are seeing the beginning of dark times, where the wills of those called heroes will be tested. A great war is brewing, between good and evil. And, we are only now seeing the opening volleys."
"I know you're mostly saying this for her part," Scott said, motioning towards Ana. "But, we've already been informed of this. What does that have to do with what happened here?"
"Everything," Marty replied.
"Care to explain," Scott asked.
"Approximately eight hundred years ago," Marty began slowly, "a woman was born in what is now New England. She was born a psychic, though she wasn't a mutant."
"What was she," Scott asked.
"I've never studied much about her," Marty replied. "But, I believe she was something skin to a lightning rod of psychic energy. I know that she had a psychic premonition to build a boat, and sail east. She did as the premonition told her. It is said that her journey was fraught with peril, and that she faced things in the open seas the like of which have not been seen since."
"Do you know what these things were that she faced," Joey asked.
"There are some in the Order that know, but I am not one," Marty responded. "But, I do know for a fact that she came to port in Athens. There she sought out the Order. How she came to know about the Order, or how she came to speak Greek, I cannot say, though I suspect she foresaw it in a vision. The Order members that met her were so impressed with her – that she was such a powerful psychic – that they decided to take her before the High Council, and the Grand Vicar, the governing bodies of the Order.
"There, they trained her with the other apprentices, where she became the greatest member of her generation. After some time studying under the Grand Vicar, she had a powerful, all-consuming vision, in which she saw creatures storming across the Americas, destroying anything and everything along their way. She went to the Council, and the Grand Vicar, for advice. She was told that she, and she alone, had to find a way to defeat the creatures. Before they released her to do the task appointed her, they inducted her into the Fire Clan of the Order, and the Grand Vicar taught her in the use of the keranceth."
"Keranceth," Scott asked dubiously.
"Yes," Marty said. "In the ancient tongue, it is the word to signify power, or more specifically, magical energy. It is the base word for the word Kerancen, which is the word for the Protectors. After she finished her training, she returned to her home. There, she began making preparations to fend off the creatures she'd foreseen coming from the west. It took her nearly thirty years."
"What did she do to prepare," Bishop asked.
"She had gained a great deal of knowledge while studying under the Grand Vicar. Once she returned, she used this knowledge to her advantage. She knew that the creatures, whatever they were, they would be stronger than humans. She knew that if she were to make an army, the warriors would have to be more than human, to even have an iota of a chance. Therefore, she began researching ways to make humans more … powerful.
"She came upon a certain combination of herbs and incantations, which, if used properly, would allow a person to transform at will." He paused, allowing the others to soak up the information. Joey, standing behind Ana, mouthed something to his self, his eyes wide in shock.
"What did you say, Joey," Celeste asked, having seen what Marty had.
"Lycanthropy," he replied softly.
"Yes," Marty responded. "But, it was not only lycanthropy. There was also avethropy, herpethropy, ursathropy, and equinathropy, amongst many, many others."
"What," Joey asked.
"He means were-birds, were-reptiles, were-bears, and were-horses, respectively," Celeste answered.
"It would've been a regular Island of Dr. Moreau," Scott said. "How could she have given these, what I presume are potions, to unsuspecting people?"
"She didn't," Marty replied. "She let those warriors that took the potions know ahead of time what would happen to them."
"What did she do next," Bryan asked.
"She waited for the signs that the enemy was coming," Marty answered. "I don't know what they were, but I do know that they came to her when she was an old woman, somehow making it to her sixties. When she did receive the signs, she headed west, to a verdant river valley that used to be east of here." Joey inhaled suddenly, hitching his breath. "Joey," Marty asked.
"My … my vision," he said, awestruck.
"What vision," the physicist asked.
"I had a vision awhile back," the larger man responded. "It was just about the time my father died." He paused, looking around to see if everyone believed him. Not seeing any incredulity, or doubt in their eyes, he continued. "I … saw a great meeting of many different tribes, coming from all over North America. There were warriors from as far north as Alaska and the Yukon, and as far south as Mexico. They had all been gathered to a council held by a woman named Speaks with the Wind. Steaming bowls of what I thought was soup were being passed out, when she spoke to me in my head, saying that it was a good omen that I was there. But, she was the only one who saw me."
"What happened next," Marty asked.
"I was … sent to a battle scene. There were bodies everywhere, both human and otherwise. Those that weren't human were on fire, having being set aflame by the human warriors they had fought. Before the vision shifted again, I saw a single warrior walking amongst the pyres, battle-weary, and bloody. I believe he was the only survivor. The vision shifted again, then, and I found myself underneath a cool, starry night. I was holding a massive lance in my hands, with a hatchet and knife around my waist. Before me, an army of creatures was marching towards me. Behind me, I had a large number of werewolves, all loyal to me. The vision ended as I led my army into battle against the creatures."
"Speaks with the Wind," Marty said, almost as if testing the words. "That was the woman's name that had started gathering the warriors to her." He paused, sighing. "She started sending out dreams, and visions, using the same magic she'd learned beneath the Grand Vicar. It took several years, but, warriors began coming to her, seeking her out for answers to questions that'd been raised by their visions. Over the next several years, warriors came trickling in, to find out what … evil was coming out of the west.
"When enough warriors had answered her summons, she began them for battle. She taught them how to handle the new abilities that came with having these new forms. By the time the battle actually took place, there were several warriors that had been able to not only acclimate to their new abilities exceptionally well, but had also how to fight that much more effectively using weapons. One of these warriors was an Apache man by the name of Running Wolf.
"The battle that came to pass lasted for almost five days, day and night. It was intensely fierce; the warriors knew they were not only fighting to save there selves, but also, quite possibly, the lives of all of their loved ones." Marty sighed heavily, his eyes threatening to brim over with tears. "Dawn on the beginning of the sixth day found all of the creatures dead, their bodies having been set on fire. But … it was a Pyrrhic victory. There were only a couple of dozen warriors left, of over a thousand. Only one of them had escaped unscathed. Over the next several days, those warriors that had been wounded starting falling sick, their bodies seemingly rotting as they lived and breathed.
"It is thought that the creatures had a form of bacteria in their hides. Whatever it was, all of the warriors died several days later, their bodies having literally rotted away. And so, in the end, there was only one warrior left alive. Running Wolf, battle-weary, exhausted, and half-starved, slowly made his way back home. The only survivor of a battle the world has since forgotten, he was the New World's Achilles.
"And he was your ancestor, Joey."
- - - -
They were sitting beneath the shadow of the jet's undamaged wing. The midday had brought on an oppressive heat, the shade barely a respite from the desert sun. Sitting with his forearms on his knees, Scott aired out his shirt, trying to cool himself off. Ana had told them earlier that this was actually warmer than what it usually was at this time of year. Nonetheless, Scott couldn't help but feel dispirited; he was trying to rationalize a reason for the time it was taking the people at the mansion to come and get them.
Determined not to allow himself to lose hope, he started thinking about what Marty had said earlier in the day. He'd said that it was thought that the reason for the massive invasion force against the Indians was to kill off Joey's ancestors. The creatures, whatever they were, apparently hadn't known much, only that they were Indians. Marty had gone on to say that other attempts had been made to kill the ancestors of not only the other X-Men, but also a number of other heroes. How exactly the creatures could know whose descendants were whose was beyond him. Suddenly, something clicked in his head.
"Marty," he asked. "Joey had a name in that language. Does that mean that the rest of us have them too?"
"Yes," the physicist sighed. "But, I can only tell you the names of those who are present."
"Well," Celeste queried, expectantly.
"I … well." He scratched at his beard, and looked at her. "Okay," he acquiesced. "You are called Nusekír Re, which literally means No-Shape One, or better translated, Shapeless One, for obvious reasons." He went to them in turn. "Scott, you were referred to as Sírtha ter Tal, or Sight of War. Bishop, you are Eríl Saíneth, or Timely Guardian. Angela, you are Ima Tanaré, which can either be translated as Angel High, or as Angel of Royalty, depending on the context. Kurt, your name in the Ancient Tongue, is Garé Selaré, Elven Curate." Lastly, he turned to Ana. "You were mentioned in the ancient scrolls, as well. Rona Tala, translated, means Armored Warrior."
The group of them digested the material, thinking over these names that had been given them long ago. Joey looked up at Marty, the first to speak. "Do you happen know anything else about us? Say, maybe prophecies?"
"It is dangerous for people to know too much about their futures, and for that reason, I know very few prophecies. However, I can tell you that vampires and werewolves will not become public knowledge until after the death of the Wolf King, and during some great war against 'creatures borne of the earth, and the imagination of Man'." He cast his eyes towards the women of the group. "Sorry if I offended you with 'Man' instead of 'humans'; I was quoting the scroll."
"'S'a'right, mate," Celeste replied. "Is there anything else you can tell us?"
"No," Marty said. "Sorry."
"There's nothing…," Celeste began, before being cut off by Kurt.
"What is that," he asked suddenly, pointing into the desert. "There, on the horizon?" They followed the direction of his finger. There, barely visible, was a black spot that seemed to be slowly enlarging, walking towards them. They were all on edge, having survived the attack in the middle of the night. This was coupled with the unabated shock of seeing something, evidently large, walking in the middle of the desert."
"Angela," Scott asked. "Fly overhead, and see if you can make out what that is." She nodded in acquiescence, and with a mighty flap of her wings, was in the air. The rest of them watched, as she gained altitude, barely visible against the sky. They kept their eyes fixed on the dark spot on the horizon, unable to determine what it was. Their anxiety, and tension, was palpable, almost feeling as if they could cut it with a knife.
Suddenly, out of the sky, they saw Angela dive towards the horizon like a bat out of hell. When she was less than fifty feet from the ground, a massive blast of blue energy erupted from her mouth, striking the black dot, a small cloud of dust enveloping the area. Out of the cloud, they saw Angela flying low and fast, almost as if her very life depended on it. She landed near Scott, clutching her knees, and trying to catch her breath. "I … It's another army," she somehow forced out between breaths. "They're marching here even as we speak. I think it's bigger than the first," she said, gulping air.
- - - -
The Previous Night
"Great," Logan groused. He stood up, ready to go out into the alley.
"Logan," Jean said, her voice full of concern. "We can't go that way." She turned towards the old woman. "Is there another door out of here?"
"No," the woman replied. "But, if there were, you would find yourselves in greater peril than if you were to go out this door. You may find … unexpected allies in the oddest of places."
"You expect us to go into the lion's den," Selene asked the woman incredulously.
"Yes. But, it is safer than the alternative."
"What's the alternative?"
The old woman smiled wryly. "Is it better to deal with a lion, or with the Devil?" The old woman seemed to look through them. "I can guarantee that if you go out the front, you will find unlooked-for allies."
Logan and Jean shared a glance, and to Selene, she knew they were going to chance it. "The both of you are insane."
"We've seen worse," Logan said, grimly.
"If you two want to join us, now is the time," Jean told them. "I don't know that you'll have another chance."
"I think the four of us might be able to fight our way out of here, if we need to," Michael said, suddenly speaking his mind. "Selene, the three of us," he motioned towards her, himself, and Jean, "were able to get past patrolling vampire guards. And Logan was single-handedly able to defeat over twenty vampires."
"Fine," Selene acquiesced, pulling out her guns, and checking the clips.
- - - -
Logan and Jean stepped out of the building first, to see both ends of the alley cut off. To their left, a large group of Death Dealers were assembled; over a hundred strong. At their head, Delacroix stood with his lieutenants, and the only survivor of Logan's attack, Mia. To their right, a larger group of what they perceived to be werewolves was gathered, their dirty, tattered clothes standing in stark contrast to the vampires' well-maintained battle gear.
"He's the one," one of the vampires called out in rage. "The short, hairy one; he's the one that killed our friends."
"Short," Logan queried, the word coming out more as a growl. Michael and Selene came out of the building then, staring in shock at the number of potential enemies.
"Kill them," one of the vampires shouted. Delacroix held up his hand for them to be quiet, but it only seemed to stoke the fires of rage. More and more of them were shouting to kill them, seemingly ignoring the werewolves before them. Suddenly, a shot rang out, just barely grazing Jean's left arm. Pregnant, malice-filled silence suddenly fell over the alley, the quiet before the storm. Almost on instinct, Logan and Jean placed shields against the opposing groups, just in time. Hundreds of shots sounded almost simultaneously, drowning out every other sound in the alley. But, each and every bullet hit the well-nigh impregnable telekinetic barriers.
As the first volleys ended, the two of them were shocked to see both vampires and werewolves dropping from the roof, right into the area between the shields. A vampire shot at Jean, the bullets tracing lines in her stomach. Acting on anger, she walked into the firing gun, and with a single swipe of her claws, cut it into four. In the same movement, she stabbed the undead warrior just beneath the solar plexus. Drawing back her other arm, she plunged her claws deep into the warrior's brainpan, killing him instantly.
She stepped back, surprised at the speed at which she had killed the vampire, she stared, transfixed, at the gore and blood on her claws. She wasn't able to fully consider her actions, hearing a growl behind her. Turning, she saw a werewolf leaping at her. With a singular thrust of her mind, she threw it against the opposing wall, blood splattering on impact.
Suddenly, beside, her Logan appeared, blood staining his shirt, a healing gash across his forehead. He gutted an un-transformed werewolf, his gun already having been cut in two. A vampire opened up on him from behind, Logan's body jerking spasmodically with the bullets. Without thinking, Jean lashed out with her claws, slicing through the vampire's upper shoulder. His arm fell to the ground with a wet thump, the remnants of his shoulder hanging in tatters, blood spouting from the wounds.
Michael suddenly appeared, seemingly wanting to take a look at Logan. But, the latter man was already recovering, adrenaline and rage speeding the process. He was momentarily surprised at Michael's face: semi-lupine, eyes pitch black, and his skin blue-gray. The shock faded quickly, as he saw a werewolf try to take Michael from behind. But, the hybrid, with single swipe of his arm, knocked the creature into the nearest wall.
"What the fuck is that," Michael heard Selene exclaim. He looked up to see her crouched behind several werewolf bodies, pointing ahead. Logan, Jean, and Michael followed the direction of her finger to see something happening to the gathered vampires. They realized, suddenly, that all the fighting had abruptly stopped. Looking around, they saw that all eyes were pointed towards where Selene had been pointing.
At the rear of the vampires, the Death Dealers seemed to be facing away from the battle that had just been occurring. Something seemed to have caught their attention. From what they could see, the rearguard had formed a sort of half-circle, looking at something; but what that something was, they could not see. All of a sudden, someone screamed, followed by another heavy, terrible silence. A single gunshot sounded, followed by an unending staccato that threatened to drown out all other noise.
The vampires started retreating further into the alley, but whatever was attacking them from the rear was cutting through them like a wedge. An abrupt, repulsive feeling settled over Logan's mind, and sensing, more than feeling, he knew something inherently evil was near him. Turning, he saw something with blood-red eyes, its mouth wide to reveal sharp, ivory fangs. It seemed human, though its face was somehow sending out waves of invisible, palpable evil
He suddenly heard Jean shout his name, followed by a heavy weight on his back. Without knowing what had happened, he felt a mouth and teeth fall onto his throat, beginning to drain the precious fluid held therein.