WOLVERINE'S WORLD: THE HERETIC
From the Traditions...
Know you that long ago the world was ruled by the Folk. And that was a time of madness, greed, and soulless science.
But eventually Wilder children were born among the Folk, and the Folk feared greatly, for they knew their time was coming to an end.
As father turned against son, and brother betrayed brother, great Wilder Lords appeared and battled among themselves for rulership. Chief among those were the Crippled Lord and his great rival, the Lord of the North and South. Their conflict raged for many years across the entire world and even up into the darkness between the stars.
During that war, the Old One - the father of our people - was a great warrior in the service of the Crippled Lord. Many foes did the Old One slay in the name of his lord.
Eventually, the Folk and the Wilder fought their final battle. On that terrible day, the world was almost destroyed. The Wilder triumphed, but few of them survived and their victory was an empty one.
In the aftermath, the Old One proclaimed to his children that the day of the Blood had arrived. Nobody else could deliver sanity from the madness. Nobody else was more fit to survive in a broken world.
"What is this?" I asked the older of the two samurai.
The younger samurai wisely kept his mouth shut and his eyes on the prisoner. This was a matter for his elders and he understood that.
The older samurai met my gaze steadily. "She's a heretic, sir. We're holding her until a priestess collects her."
The prisoner was a girl who was only beginning to show the first signs of filling out into womanhood. If I had to makes a guess, I would have said that she was perhaps thirteen or fourteen years old. Otherwise, she had blue eyes, a wild spray of freckles, and the fiery red hair that was an age-old sign of the favor of the Old One. I suppose she might be pretty, but a bath would be necessary to prove it one way or the other.
We were in the village of Alban and both samurai were wearing the badges of Alban's lord. Alban is a village on the Huds river, and it's the last outpost of the Blood before you entered the trackless wilderness of the northern woods. The farmers, miners, woodsmen, and fur-trappers of the region are historically a tough and capable lot who are proud of their independence, loyal to their lords, and respectful to both the goddesses and the spirit of the Old One.
Over the last century, I've visited Alban perhaps a half-dozen times. The village was all that remained of an ancient city that had once been called Albany - there are ruins of the old city scattered in every direction. Back then the Huds river had been known as the Hudson. However, those days were long past.
I'd never met the current lord of Alban, but he had a reputation as a wise and fair-minded ruler. However, he was also known to be a pious man and I could see that he might be quite firm about religious issues. None the less, chaining a youngling to a stone pier on the edge of the village marketplace, and stationing two samurai to guard her struck me as questionable... even if the prisoner was a heretic.
I'd just disembarked from a riverboat. It had been decades since I'd last set foot in Alban, and it seemed to me that nothing much had changed. At the foot of the river-side docks was a marketplace that was bordered by a row of stone warehouses, a scatter of wooden cottages, a communal counting-house, and a pair of stoutly-built taverns.
The marketplace was bustling. Several dozen Blood and Folk women - a mixture of wives, daughters, concubines, and servants - were haggling with the stall-keepers. A group of elderly men were seated where they could watch both the river and the marketplace as they talked the day away. Children ran around, their voices high and excited as they played games of pursuit and pretend that were older than anyone could possibly remember.
With only some variation of dress and language, it was scene you might expect to see in any village or town, anywhere in the world.
I was in Alban because my dreams had sent me northwards. As always, the dreams were unclear. However, their intent was obvious. The spirit of the Old One - called both Logan and Wolverine - was calling to me. As a servant of his will, I have no choice but to heed his summons.
Among the Blood, my kind is commonly known as a 'seeker'. The learned men at the University at Nyack have called me a 'shaman'. Scholars love to label things. Especially things they don't really understand.
It is my duty to seek out the will of the Old One. I try to discover the path that serves the good of the Blood - the Old One's descendants. However, I didn't need a sign to know what every legend tells us.
The Old One had been kind to children.
The prisoner was silent as she gazed at us sullenly.
I looked at the prisoner. She glared right back at me.
"What's your name?" I asked.
"Rahne," she replied shortly.
That made me pause. She had a name that the Old One would have known. That was... interesting.
The younger samurai stepped forward as he gave Rahne a warning growl, demanding that she show me the proper respect due my age and position.
"Sir. My name is Rahne," the girl said through gritted teeth.
I carefully put a hand on the younger samurai's shoulder. I could feel hard muscle tense under his chainmail jacket, but he backed away.
"What do you have to say for yourself, Rahne?" I asked.
Rahne wordlessly clenched her fist before her chest. The sign of the hammer of Thor.
"You aren't chained up because you choose to honor the thunder god," I said skeptically. While certainly not embraced or encouraged, the worship of Thor is more-or-less tolerated among the Blood. After all, the legends spoke of the Old One and the Thunderer as brothers-in-arms. Both had served together in the legendary warrior-band known as the Avengers.
The girl's blue eyes were hard and defiant. "I honor the thunder god. And I honor his lover and wife - the goddess of storms."
The two samurai shifted uncomfortably at such plain-spoken deviancy.
I sighed and shook my head.
Damn it.
Kids nowadays - with their silly ideas, odd clothes, and strange music.
Thor is a distant and respected figure from the past. There are those who choose to worship him, but the Blood keeps its distance from the memory of Asgard. Odin and his descendants are not for us.
From where I stood in the marketplace, I could see the top of the distant, white-painted bulk of the temple of the three goddesses. It faced the fortified stone tower that was the home of the lord of Alban.
The Lady of Storms is one of the three goddesses of the Blood. The belief that she and the thunder god were husband and wife was, in fact, heresy. The temple utterly refused to accept it. In fact, the various Thor worshipers I'd encountered in my lifetime were hostile to the idea. They claim that Thor's wife is a fellow Asgardian named Sif.
The elder samurai and I exchanged a glance. His mouth was set and hard, but I saw no cruelty in his face - just a sense of resignation. He knew what was going to happen to Rahne and he didn't like it. He didn't like it at all.
"Have you ever seen a burning?" I asked Rahne bluntly.
Rahne didn't say anything. Perhaps there was fear deep inside her, but she wouldn't allow it to show.
"You damned fool," the older samurai growled at Rahne with an exasperated shake of his head.
"Rahne... it takes a long time to die by fire," the younger samurai added quickly. His eyes were on Rahne and I could hear something shaky and desperate in his voice that he was trying his brave best to hide. I suddenly realized that the younger samurai wasn't really that much older than Rahne. They had probably known one another while growing up.
The expression on Rahne's face just got harder.
"When is that priestess going to show up?" I asked the older guard.
He nodded towards one of the taverns. "She's in there, sir. I think she's stalling."
I glanced at the tavern. Behind it, the horizon was darkening. There was some weather rolling in.
Not a surprise. When a priestess of the Lady of Storms is in distress, the weather shares her opinion.
The Shield and Star was the better of the two taverns in Alban. As I recalled, it served an outstanding local ale. The food was pretty good, too. During my last visit, the place had always been filled with patrons.
That hadn't change. The common room of the tavern was packed.
I stepped inside the door and the tavern slowly ground to a halt. Within a few seconds, everyone was staring at me.
That's happened to me many times before - and will happen again. It comes with who I am. My intricately carved staff and red-stained tooth-and-claw necklace tells everyone what I am. It would be a few days before everyone got used to having a seeker in their midst. We are a rare sight.
"The Old One is gone, but his spirit remains..." I began, pitching my voice to carry throughout the room.
"We remember the Old One," came the rolling, rumbling, response from dozens of throats. Everyone from an elderly holder accompanied by his retinue of wives, children, samurai, and servants, to an awe-struck Folk barmaid who even younger than Rahne, gave the formal reply. Most of the people in the room had never seen a seeker, but they still knew the ancient words.
That was as it should be.
"...and he is with us," I finished.
There was a low, but firm, growl of assent.
The priestess was seated at a corner table. A servant was with her. A temple guardsman stood just behind the priestess.
I walked over. The priestess put down her cup. The handmaiden unabashedly stared at me. The guard made an indefinable shift that was in no way threatening, but warning me that he was ready for anything.
My kind exists to find the will of the Old One. And his will does not flinch from bloodshed. A seeker often walks right into trouble.
"My name is James," I told the priestess. She was a beautiful Wilder woman - perhaps a century younger than me. She had delicate features, light brown skin, and long blonde hair that was set into an intricate braid. She was wearing the black and yellow robes of a priestess of storms. A silver lightning bolt symbol hung from her neck, indicating that she was a junior priestess of the temple.
The priestess stood politely. I was her elder, after all, and the Temple recognized my position.
"Hello," the priestess replied carefully. "My name is Dare. It is an honor to meet one who seeks the will of the Old One. How may I help you?"
I tried not to react. "Dare" is a modern, abbreviated version of "N'Dare". That is a name with meaning. In the case of a priestess of storms, a great deal of meaning.
The signs were closing in around me, coming faster and faster.
"Tell me about that heretic you're about to burn at the stake."
For several heartbeats, the priestess stared into my eyes. Then she nodded.
We sat. A bowl of rabbit stew, some bread and cheese, and a cup of ale appeared in front of me. The Folk barmaid bowed and quickly backed away. There was no mention of payment. Which was good, since I had no money. My kind is supposed to eschew the material world.
"So you have a heresy problem here in Alban?" I asked bluntly.
Dare wasn't rattled by what I'd said. "Yes, we do."
I stirred the stew with a spoon and tried it. It was good. "Where you have one heretic, you usually have more."
"True, but I think I might be able to cause any others to reconsider their errors."
I took a long, deliberate drink of ale as I looked directly into Dare's face. "Have you ever ordered a burning before?"
"No," Dare replied flatly. "And I don't plan on ordering one now."
My eyes drifted to Dare's handmaiden. She had black hair, penetrating green eyes, and was dressed much more plainly than her mistress. She seemed a little older than the typical servant girl. When she saw I was looking at her, she quickly glanced away.
"When do you plan on dealing with Rahne?"
Dare made a gesture with the mostly empty cup that was in her hand. "As soon as I'm done with this."
Outside, there was a dull roar of distant thunder. And Dare's eyes were slowly turning pure white.
"I don't suppose I could persuade you to wait until I'm done with my dinner?" I asked.
"Eat quickly," she suggested.
I couldn't help but smile. I was beginning to like Dare.
"Rahne admits to being a heretic," I said as I stirred the stew with my spoon. "A Thororite, as a matter of fact."
Dare rolled her eyes, but said nothing.
"Do you know anything about her?" I asked.
"You mean besides the fact she's a damn fool?" Dare growled irritably.
I did smile at that.
The Priestess took a deep breath. Then she continued in a calmer tone. "Her family had a freehold a few miles up river. About a year ago, they were overrun during a Creed raid and everyone was killed except for her. She drifted into Alban and made a living doing odd work here and there. But about a month ago she started talking nonsense. There are Thorians among the Folk and Wilder riverboat crews. Normally that's something we in the Temple don't care about, but if some of them are spreading this heresy about the Lady of Storms and the Thunderer... well, that is our business."
"So what does the Temple have in mind for the girl?"
Dare smiled grimly, "The current plan of this humble servant of the Lady of Storms is to finish her drink, and then go scare some sense into that foolish girl."
"She doesn't strike me as being easy to scare," I suggested.
"The Goddess will provide," Dare replied with a shrug.
I didn't say anything as I finished my ale. It was really quite good.
"So, James-Who-Seeks, what is your interest in this matter?" Dare asked.
"I'm not sure," I replied honestly.
Dare frowned.
It was time for some honesty - mixed with a bit of mystery. "The Old One is watching," I said.
Dare and companions blinked in surprise. There was a quiet stir from the tables that were within earshot. Then Dare nodded in careful acquiescence.
Dark, angry, clouds ringed Alban on all sides by the time we left the Shield and Star. Erratic winds whipped through the marketplace. A light rain began to fall intermittently as we walked to where Rahne was secured.
Out of long habit, I carefully looked around for signs. What I saw surprised me.
The village was rife with signs. I'd never seen so many at once.
Across the river, a bold stroke of blue-white lightning suddenly split the sky.
Rahne's red hair seemed as bright as a beacon. It seemed to almost glow.
Two bald eagles - a mated pair - were circling the village. The unnatural shift in the weather seemingly had them baffled.
A young ranger fresh from the hunt, clad in buckskin and leather, entered the far side of the marketplace. A dead deer was slung over his shoulders and blood trickled from the deer's mouth. At the ranger's side paced his wolf-dog companion.
Down by the docks, the crew of a fishing-boat had spreading out a net for maintenance. A long pair of oars were holding up the net. The oars formed an X.
I shook my head as the thunder from the lightning strike finally rolled over us. It wasn't a question of finding a sign. Instead, there were so many of them crowded around us that I couldn't trust myself to interpret them. There was only one thing that I could say with any certainty.
The Old One was watching.
The crowd in the marketplace, already thinned out due to the rain, gave way before us. Many bowed their heads and made the crossed-forearm gesture of respect towards Dare as they backed away. Dare was manifesting Lady Ororo in all her glory. The proper place for the faithful was at a safe and respectful distance.
The two samurai guarding Rahne didn't look as if they particularly wanted to be in the midst of the approaching scene. However, they firmly kept to their post as they bleakly watched our advance.
Dare paused to stare at Rahne. Dare's servant was behind her and slightly to the left. The bodyguard stood at Dare's right side. I was several paces to the side of the serving girl. For the moment, this was Dare's show.
Encumbered by her chains, Rahne clambered to her feet and defiantly met Dare's eyes. The young fools are always the bravest fools.
"Unchain her," Dare said.
Speaking of fools...
Dare's bodyguard let out the softest of sighs and edged closer to Dare. A fraction of a second might make the difference between saving Dare's life and watching her bleed out on the cobblestones. Dare was Wilder, not Blood. She couldn't regenerate.
The older samurai, his face grim, pulled an iron key from his belt. The younger samurai stood behind the girl and held her by the arms as his companion unlocked the manacles from around her wrists and ankles. The chains clattered to the cobblestones and the two samurai stepped away. After all, Dare's conversation with Rahne could very well end with a lightning bolt. Standing too close to Rahne might not be a good idea. However, they didn't take their eyes away from Rahne.
Still meeting Dare's eyes, Rahne slowly rubbed her wrists.
A startled murmur arose from the crowd as Dare calmly stepped forward - and well into claw range of the prisoner. The bodyguard muttered something under his breath, immediately broke position, and moved urgently to intervene. I was closer and automatically stepped forward. The two samurai did the same.
Dare held up a hand and all of us - the bodyguard, the two samurai, and I - ground to a frustrated halt.
The goddess was with Dare. We owed her the right to pursue her duty as she saw fit.
"Do you know me?" Dare said to the prisoner. Her voice now had a bold and echoing quality.
Rahne stood up. Her facial expression and body language radiating pugnacious determination.
"You are Dare of the Temple," Rahne said coldly. "You are a priestess of Thor's wife and I honor you for that."
There were gasps and mutters from the watching crowd. I suppose everyone knew that Rahne was a heretic, but to hear her so readily confirm it was still a shock.
Her hand flaring with bright white electricity, Dare slapped Rahne, slamming the girl backwards and off her feet. For a long moment, Rahne lay frozen on the ground. Then she began shaking her head and blinking her eyes as she shook off the jolt she'd just received.
That was when Dare's servant girl, who had been somewhere behind us, actually stepped between Dare and I, her eyes locked on Rahne. I think I cursed as I grabbed her by the shoulder and yanked her back. The girl yelped in surprise, but I didn't care. Better she suffer some indignity than be either gutted or electrocuted.
"Reject your heresy and you will be forgiven," Dare told Rahne evenly, electricity flaring around her eyes.
With a savage, guttural howl, Rahne surged upwards, her hand and foot claws extended as she began spinning into the classic, instinctive attack pattern of a Blood female. She was fast - shockingly fast. I lunged forward, but there was a hollow feeling in my gut as I realized that I would never be able to stop Rahne in time. It was too late to save Dare. And then we would have no choice but to kill the girl.
But just shy of her target, Rahne seemed to hesitate for the merest of split seconds. And then she slammed into a lightning-tinged whirlwind that Dare had formed around herself. With a deafening roar that caused everyone to flinch away, Rahne was thrown backwards again. She hit the stone pier with bone-crunching force.
The two samurai, the bodyguard, and I barely managed to stop ourselves before running into Dare's whirlwind. Then it almost immediately dissipated. The spike of energized air that Dare had summoned flowed away from her like a gusty tide. Everyone in the area shielded their eyes from wind-blown dust and debris.
Rahne's eyes were unfocused and blurry. She had an ugly cut on her forehead, and blood was trickling down her face But even as I watched, the cut began to heal and Rahne began to stir - she was an uncommonly powerful regenerator. Dare's bodyguard had moved to a position to the immediate left his mistress. He was obviously waiting, and if Rahne attacked again he would intervene. I could tell by the look in the bodyguard's eyes that this time he wouldn't stop until either he or Rahne were dead.
"The Goddess is merciful," Dare said sternly, heat and steam radiating from the ground around her. "Reject your heresy, Rahne, and she will allow you to live."
Her face cold and determined, Rahne painfully climbed to her feet. What was left of her tunic was charred in places. Her claws were still out.
For a long, frozen moment, the woman and the girl glared at one another. Much to my surprise, Dare looked away first.
"I saw someone burn once," Dare said suddenly. Her voice was different. Now, it was no longer imbued with the power of the Goddess. Now, she sounded like a normal woman. And a strangely vulnerable one.
Rahne - about to strike - paused. Her eyes warily searching Dare's face.
"It was terrible," Dare continued quietly. "He was a Blood male. And he healed as he burned. So it took a long time for him to die. I swore then and there that I would never order anyone burned at the stake. Rahne, if you do not return to the Goddess, I will kill you here and now rather than see you suffer like that. But know this: if I end you, it will be as if your family never existed. The last remnant of them will be gone forever."
Rahne flexed her clawed hands, her eyes now locked with Dare's.
Dare extended her hands, her open palms faced upwards. The soft rain intensified, washing the blood from Rahne's face.
"I'm begging you, Rahne," Dare said softly. "Save your life. Save the memory of your father and mother. Please don't make me kill you and everything you might be. Come back to us."
Dare fell silent. The watching crowd, now swollen to considerable size, was motionless and still. for several seconds, there was only the gentle hissing of the rain.
"Come back, child," a voice called from the crowd - it sounded like an older woman. "Girl, return to the ways of your father," called another voice - male, this time. Other voices spoke up. Nobody called for Rahne's death. That was striking. The people of Alban respected the Goddesses, but they were not fanatics.
Rahne scanned the pleading crowd, perhaps surprised by their reaction. For a long moment, she was obviously torn by indecision.
"Please, Rahne!" Dare pleaded.
Everything went silent as the moment hung on the edge of a claw. Dare's serving girl was standing next to me. She had my arm in her hands and was squeezing hard...
Then Rahne retracted her claws and fell to her knees, her head bowed.
"I'm sorry," Rahne said in a cracking voice. "I'm sorry. Please forgive me, my Lady of Storms."
The crowd rumbled in approval. Then cheers broke out. Dare moved towards Rahne, but her bodyguard quickly inserted himself between them and helped Rahne to her feet himself.
I glanced at Dare's handmaiden. She looked at me and our eyes met.
"Good work," I told her.
A disgusted expression appeared on her face.
The Temple of the Three Goddesses was located in the center of the village, just opposite the walled compound of Lord Alban. Dare and I were in a private chamber deep inside the Temple's main structure. Dare's handmaiden entered the room, carrying a serving tray.
"I still don't understand your interest in this affair," Dare said. She was obviously puzzled.
The 'servant' put steaming mugs of pine-needle tea in front of Dare and I. Then she put that tray on a nearby table and broke out of her role by picking up a third mug and taking a cautious sip from it.
"I think that girl has been touched by the spirit of the Old One," I said. "The signs are there."
Dare nodded cautiously, "Her name. Her hair. And she's a powerful regenerator. That cut on her forehead healed almost immediately."
I shrugged, but said nothing.
Then Dare laughed ruefully, "Well, I certainly didn't see the signs! And I'm damn lucky she didn't take my head off. Our little Rahne is very fast."
I smiled and glanced at Dare's 'handmaiden'. "Fortunately, you have assets of your own."
Dare sighed, "As you have obviously guessed, Emma here is a telepath - actually she is a priestess of the Lady of Fire. The Temple finds it useful to have someone like her on hand who is not obviously a priestess. And... yes... Emma slowed Rahne down just enough when she attacked me. And she gave Rahne a telepathic 'push' when I asked her to reject her foolish notions."
Emma gestured at us with her mug of tea. "She's a hurt and angry girl caught between being a child and an woman. The Thororite heresy was just a means of expressing her anger."
Emma was yet another old name that held a great deal of meaning. And the more I studied Dare's face, the more I saw the signs of the ancient and honored lineage of the Lady of Storms herself.
More signs.
Emma tossed her hair in irritation, "He also knows that I'm a Graymalkin."
I decided to ignore the implication that Emma had read my mind. Actually, it was possible that she'd simply made a good guess.
The Graymalkin are a secretive group - some would say a cult - within the Priestesses of Fire. Those aware of their existence thought of them as the investigators and inquisitors for the Temple of the Three Goddesses. That was true, but I knew that they were much more. I make a point of being careful around any Graymalkin I might meet. They are a law of their own.
I gazed into his mug and said, "I couldn't help but notice that while Rahne did ask forgiveness from the Lady of Storms, she didn't actually renounce her heresy."
Dare sighed again. "James the Seeker, you are shaman of the Old One and a man of many years and much wisdom. And you are an honored guest of my Temple and I find that I personally like you. But you are becoming a pain in the ass."
That actually made me chuckle. "With any luck, I'll be out your way soon enough. So what will happen to Rahne?"
Dare made an indeterminate motion with her shoulders. "At the moment, she is on her hands and knees, dressed in rags, and scrubbing the floor of the shrine to the Lady of Storms with the absolutely smallest brush I could find. After a few months of that, the Goddess will be appeased and then I'll find something more useful for Rahne to do. And if she remains a heretic, hopefully she will have learned by then to keep her mouth shut about it."
I made a point of not looking at Emma as I said, "Rahne's very fast, a strong regenerator, and has no family ties. As someone who has toyed with heresy, some might consider her expendable. If properly trained, such a girl would make a formidable servant - or assassin."
Emma's eyes narrowed. Dare gave her a warning glance.
"James... how the Temple chooses to make use of a repenting heretic is no affair of yours," Dare told me bluntly.
"True," I conceded, "but I am merely offering you some advice. You don't want to turn Rahne into a killer."
"She's Blood," Emma broke in. "And as you said, the spirit of the Old One is strong in her. She's a killer by definition."
"Which is why I suggest you be careful," I answered coldly. "The Old One is lurking within her - just beneath the surface. Some of the oldest stories of the Old One tell how those who tried to use him paid for their arrogance with their lives."
Dare considered what I'd said for a long moment, thoughtfully rotating her cup in her hands as she did.
"I will consider that," she responded slowly. Emma shot Dare a surprised look, but said nothing.
At the moment, that was the best I could hope for.
The senior priestess in the Temple was named Carol and she served the Lady of Blades. She kindly offered me the temple's hospitality for the night and I gratefully accepted.
Emma showed me to my room. It wasn't much - a stone cell with a cot and some other minimal furnishings - but it was warm, dry, and clean.
"We get pilgrims every know and then. It's for them," Emma said as she held the door open for me. We stepped inside and she carefully closed the door behind us.
I shook my head. "Even in the temple, you still pretend to be a servant?"
"Yes," Emma replied matter-of-factly. "There are many here who do not know who I really am. I prefer to keep it that way."
"Very well," I said, trying not to sound too dismissive. The affairs of the temple mean little to me. My duties lie elsewhere.
"It must be difficult to keep up your role," I said idly as I dropped my traveling pack into a corner. Most Blood or Wilder would die rather than pretend to be Folk.
Emma laughed and I could see mischief in her blue eyes. She was pouring water from a wooden pitcher into a wash bowl.
"I do what's necessary," she said.
I sat on the cot - it was surprisingly comfortable. Of course, I'm used to sleeping on the ground.
With both hands, Emma took a wash basin from a low table and gazed into it. Suddenly, steam was rising from the water.
I tried to remember that last time I'd washed in hot water. I couldn't recall.
"That's a handy trick," I said appreciatively. By then I was rather hoping that Emma would hurry up and leave so I could bathe.
"I know quite a few," Emma observed. Then she slipped off her robes. The shift she was wearing underneath left her arms and legs bare and was thin to the point of transparency.
Sitting next to me on the bed, Emma pulled off my shirt and began bathing me.
I didn't object.
It was morning - just before dawn. I sensed someone approaching my cell and opened my eyes.
Beside me on the cot, Emma was breathing softly. Trying not to disturb her, I got to my feet and began pulling on my trousers. Emma interrupted the process by casually reaching out from the cot and touching me in a manner that was awesomely inappropriate.
"Demon woman," I hissed as I moved away so I could finish buttoning my pants in peace.
"I try to live up to my name," she laughed.
There was a knock at the door. I grabbed the blanket and tossed it over Emma's bare body. She calmly threw the blanket to one side, sat up, produced a brush from her scattered robes, and began languorously running it through her long hair. She was every inch a tawdry servant who'd just spent an active night with one of her betters.
Not for the first time, it occurred to me that Emma was good at her job. Very good.
The acolyte at the door served the Lady of Blades. She was wearing the red sash of Lady Elektra, instead of the blue of Lady Elizabeth, or the black of Lady Laura. And the look she gave Emma was filled with an angry mixture of contempt and envy. Acolytes are required to be celibate until they finally graduate and become priestesses.
"My pardon, sir," she said tersely - speaking to me while still glaring at Emma, "but lord Alban has summoned priestess Dare. She requests that you accompany her."
"Tell her I'm on the way," I said as I reached for my boots.
The lord of Alban was a broad and extremely tough-looking Blood warrior, but there were the first traces of gray in his beard. In a few years, one of his underlings would challenge him for the lordship of Alban. If that challenger lost, there would eventually be another. That was pre-ordained, and was as natural as birth and as inexorable as death. It was the way of the Blood. But until then, he was the lord of Alban and his word was law.
"I want her gone," he told us bluntly.
Dare and I exchanged glances. The lord was within his rights and we both knew it.
"Rahne has renounced her heresy," Dare said softly.
Lord Alban shook his head. "That's not good enough. She's tainted and her presence threatens the spiritual well-being of my people. Get her off my lands."
Dare didn't have any choice. She bowed low and said, "It will be as you say, my lord."
Then the Lord of Alban gave me a long, level, look. "Do you have anything to say, Patch?"
'Patch' is an ancient name for my kind. Actually, I was a bit surprised that the lord knew it.
"I think you're wrong," I replied.
The lord blinked in surprise as a slight flutter of surprise whispered through his attendants in his hall. His samurai all stirred dangerously. That wasn't the sort of thing a lord of the Blood has said to his face too often. At least, not in public.
The lord of Alban then showed me how he had managed to hold on to power for so long. Instead of flying into a useless rage, he smiled and shook his head.
"I forgot that your kind has the right and duty of plain speech," he said mildly. "So pray tell me, James the Patch, how am I wrong?"
"Rahne's rejection of her heresy is a lesson to other heretics," I answered, keeping my words neutral and my tone respectful. "Keeping her close - safe and repentant - shows strength instead of weakness. It also shows anyone who is harboring false beliefs, or is under the influence of someone who does, that there is a way out other than by fire and the stake."
The Lord of Alban continued to impress me. He glanced at his senior wife - a Wilder woman with iron-gray hair. The woman said nothing and made no gesture. And yet I could tell some sort of communication took place.
"I will not retract my words," the lord said finally. "However, I will accept that Rahne's example is useful and her presence may serve a purpose. She is banished for six months. After that time, she may return if she wishes."
Then something sly and amused appeared in the lord's eyes. "I'm sure you won't mind shepherding her for the next half-year, won't you, James?"
Dare let out a soft noise that I'm sure was a stifled laugh.
I kept my face professionally expressionless. Then I bowed my head and said, "Of course, my lord."
Rahne was carefully scrubbing the floor when Dare and I entered the shrine. She was on her hands and knees and had a brush not much bigger than my thumbnail. She was dressed in a tattered and stained rag.
"I thought you were joking," I told Dare.
Dare shook her head. Rahne, reacting to our voices, looked up. But she didn't stop scrubbing.
"You can stop," Dare said. It seemed to me that there was a touch of regret in her voice.
Rahne dropped the brush with a relived sigh and knelt up. After painfully flexing her hands, she began rubbing her wrists.
"You've been banished," Dare told her.
Rahne frowned.
"It's for six months," I added. "Until then, you and I are traveling together."
"Okay," Rahne said in a small voice. "Uhm... can I have some real clothes?"
I looked at Dare.
"I'll see what I can do," Dare said.
Actually, Rahne ended up with a fine new tunic and a matching wool cloak. Dare also gave her a pair of sandals. However, that seemed to be a problem since Rahne was used to going barefoot. She ended up tucking them into her belt. Now that Dare wasn't responsible for Rahne's punishment, she was being far more reasonable.
We were at the temple gate. Dare was seeing Rahne and I off. Dare's bodyguard handed Rahne a well-stuffed backpack. Rahne unhesitatingly put it on and didn't seem to be even slightly bothered by the weight. She was strong for her size.
"Some provisions," Dare told me. I nodded my thanks. That was a much-appreciated gesture. You can lose a lot of traveling time if you're required to hunt and gather along the way.
Then Dare offered me a small pouch. "Nyack silver," she said. Coins from the great city are accepted anywhere in the valley.
I contemplated the pouch without touching it. My kind takes an oath to avoid money.
"You're responsible for feeding a teenager," Dare added quietly. "She'll eat the contents of that pack in just a few days."
I took the silver. The Old One would just have to understand. Besides, the traditions were full of tales where the Old One listened to the wisdom of Lady Ororo.
Then Emma walked up to us. She was dressed for travel, with a cloak wrapped around her and a traveling satchel slung around her shoulders. She looked expectantly at me. And Dare was suddenly trying to hide a smile.
"Exactly what makes you think I'll let you tag along?" I growled at Emma.
Dare knelt at my feet, took my hands in hers, and then kissed them. Looking up at me, her eyes shone with a sincerity that was as breathtakingly beautiful as it was a damned lie.
"James, I invoke the ancient tradition of those whom we serve," Dare said softly. "In the name of the friendship between the Old One and the Lady of Storms, I beg a favor. Please allow my companion to travel with you. Please grant her your assistance and protection."
Oh, damn it.
That really shouldn't have been a surprise. Dare obviously took her position seriously, so she had studied both the written histories and the spoken traditions. The bond between the Old One and the Lady of Storms was... is... a powerful thing. Ignoring its invocation was both impious and dangerous. My kind has responsibilities when a priestess of storms makes a request. Those responsibilities turn to iron when she begs for help.
"You..." I began angrily, but I didn't finish. The only words I could think of were ones I could never bring myself to say to Dare.
Dare turned my hands over and then kissed my palms. She used her tongue - and even for a man of my age that was shiveringly erotic.
"Impudent woman?" Dare suggested immediately. She was still on her knees and my hands were in hers.
"Manipulative wench?" Emma provided thoughtfully.
"Bitch?" Rahne added eagerly. I suppose she wanted to play along with the big girls.
I reached over and rapped Rahne on the forehead with my knuckles.
"Do not use that word," I said sternly.
"Ow!" Rahne complained as she rubbed her forehead.
I turned and stomped out of the gate. Emma and Rahne followed me. Behind us, Dare rose to her feet.
She wasn't even trying to hide her laughter.
GLOSSARY
Blood - from 'The Blood of Logan'. These are the descendants of the feral mutant lineage that includes Logan, Daken, and Laura Kinney. In the future, they are the largest population on Earth and their violent, feudalistic, culture dominates the world.
Creed - the descendants of the feral mutant lineage that included Sabertooth. They are psychotic and dangerous population that is being slowly and surely exterminated by the Blood and their own madness.
Folk - the non-mutant human race, now a minority population that occupies a subservient position in a mutant-dominated world.
Graymalkin - a shadowy investigative group consisting of priestesses of the Lady of Fire.
Holder - a Blood male who controls territory. It is possible, but rare, for a Blood female or a non-Blood to gain this status.
Huds River - what used to be called the Hudson river.
Nyack - an old name for the city now more commonly known as "the Towers".
Ronin - in feudal Japanese society, this meant "masterless warrior". In Blood society, it means a Blood who is either an unmarried female of an unlanded male.
Seeker - also known as a 'Patch' or 'Howler'. This is a shaman of the Old One. These individuals wander the world, seeking the will the Old One via signs and omens. In practical terms, they serve the needs of Blood society.
Samurai - a landless male Blood in service of a Holder.
Scatter - Folk with powers. These individuals are rare and occupy an uncertain position in Blood society.
The Old One - Logan himself, filtered through centuries of myth and legend.
The Lady of Storms - Ororo, a legendary version of her is one of the three goddesses of the Blood.
The Lady of Fire - Jean Grey, another of the three goddesses of the Blood.
The Lady of Blades - the last of the three goddesses. She is a tripartite entity, incorporating Blood, Scatter, and Wilder elements. The historical origins of this figure are X-23, Elektra, and Psylocke.
The Temple of the Three Goddesses - often shortened to 'the Temple'. This is the 'church' of the Blood. The priestesses of the Temple and their servants are primarily Wilder.
Thor - Asgardian god. A tolerated cult exists that is sworn to his worship.
Thororo Heresy - the conceptual overlap between Thor and the Lady of Storms has resulted in the belief that they are somehow related. That's an opinion not particularly liked by most Thorians or the priestesses of the Lady of Storms.
Wilder - non-Blood mutants. They are a significant part of the world population, but much fewer in numbers than the Blood.