WOLVERINE'S WORLD - THE MAGE
There was a row of huts along the side of the fort farthest from the gate. One of them was the quarters of the now-absent fort commander. The others were usually inhabited by various senior members of the fort's garrison.
The fort's mage lived in one of those huts and I needed to talk to him. Finding the hut was no problem. Mages - the current one and his predecessors - had lived in it for so long that the structure seemed to hum slightly with arcane energies.
I knocked on the door and waited. From inside the hut, I could smell expensive incense and hear a faint droning sound.
The droning ceased as a tiny figure clad in simple orange robes opened the door. She was so small that at first I thought she was a girl - even younger than Rahne. But than I took a closer look and realized that she was actually a full adult.
Behind her, I could see nothing. The interior of the hut seemed completely dark. Given the hut's open door and windows, that was impossible, of course, but I'd seen the effect before. Some mages use it to preserve their privacy, while also invoking a suitable aura of mystery.
"I am James the seeker," I told the servant. "I wish to see the magus."
The tiny fox-like woman peered at me with unblinking eyes. She wasn't of this world, of course. A mage almost always has an innocuous-appearing bodyguard and servant - and it's not a good idea to challenge them.
"Let him in," a voice called from inside the hut.
The servant wordlessly stepped out of the way and I walked into the darkness.
As I stepped inside, the darkness vanished and the interior of the hut was revealed. It was simply furnished. There was a neatly-made bed, a table, a pair of full bookshelves, and a few storage trunks. Some simple cook-ware was stacked near the fireplace. Books and papers were scattered across the table. Incense was burning in the fireplace. The floor was paved with carefully-fitted flat stones.
The furnishings were positioned against the white-washed walls of the hut. In the center of the room, sigils and runes had been etched onto the stones of the floor in an intricately complex circular pattern.
The mage was floating in mid-air in the exact center of the room. He was cross-legged and his hands were resting on his knees. His eyes were closed as I entered, but they opened to peer curiously at me.
Before him, there was a translucent blue-white image. It took me a moment to realize that it was a very accurate-appearing relief map of the local region. Dots and blobs of different colors - reds and yellows mostly - seemed to litter its surface. If I had to make a guess, the mage was searching for something. And judging from the look on his face, he wasn't having much luck.
As I watched, the map flickered and vanished.
"Greetings, honored one," the mage said to me as he stepped down from his floating position. His body language was the same as if he were dismounting from some sort of platform.
"My name is Cyrus," he continued. "I am of the house of Strange."
Cyrus was a dark and slender man in dark-blue clothing. His silent servant quickly retrieved the red-with-gold cloak that marked him as a student of the house of Strange, and then reverently wrapped it around his shoulders. That wasn't an ostentatious or vain gesture. Such things are not only important indicators of rank and place, they very much have a power of their own. That's part of the reason I wear my tooth and claw necklace - and why I missed my staff so dearly.
"How may I aid you, seeker James?" Cyrus asked politely. His eyes, however, seemed strangely intent as he examined me. I suppose it was possible that there was a scent of otherworldly powers about me. After all, I'd encountered so many of late.
"There is a creature of Asgardian legend," I said. "It's called 'the Destroyer'. Do you know of it?"
There was a long pause as Cyrus continued to study me. His servant didn't react at all, but her eyes also never wavered from me.
"Yes, I've heard of it," Cyrus replied slowly. "It is said to be a creation of Odin himself. According to legend, it will be summoned at the end of time to fight a terrible and unknown enemy. Given that the key evils of Ragnarok are all named, that's always been troubling."
"I don't suppose you could defeat it in a fight?" I asked.
This time, Cyrus' pause was quite long.
"No," he finally answered.
"Then I need to talk to your master," I said quietly.
To all appearances, we were in Nyack. Specifically, we were in the Sanctum Sanctorum of Ancient Strange.
Of course, that was an illusion. I am not a student of magic, but I know some of the basic theory. We were actually in something that was like a psionic mindscape, but its origins were mystical rather than telepathic.
Since we had requested an audience with Ancient Strange, he had every right to set the rules - and the appearance - of our meeting. It looked as if we were in a great room that was a combination of library, museum, and mystical workshop. A large circular window with an oddly banded frame and curved intrusions dominated the slanted roof. Other light came from lanterns that did not seem to actually burn.
It was an impressive feat. I've been in the real Sanctum Sanctorum. Everything about the image rang true - even down to the details of scent.
Ancient Strange was hovering in mid-air - in the same manner and position as had Cyrus. He was a wizened figure; hairless, wrinkled, and with hands gnarled by vast age. And yet his eyes were bright with awareness. However, the good humor I was used to seeing there was absent.
Cyrus stood beside me, but this conversation didn't really involve him. He was simply the means of maintaining our side of it.
"Hello, James," Ancient Strange said. As always, his voice was stronger than his appearance.
"Stephen," I replied with a nod of my head.
"The years continue to be kind to you," Ancient Strange said with a dry smile.
"Perhaps I'm something of a freak of nature," I responded with a shrug.
Ancient Strange's lips quirked. "There was a time - back when the Wilder were called 'Mutants', and there was only one man who was Blood - when that was said about all of your kind."
I bowed my head in silent and respectful agreement. Ancient Strange had been there. He had seen the fall of the Folk and the rise of the Blood. With his own eyes, he'd watched the rise of the world that had come from it all.
Ancient Strange gestured towards me with an age-twisted hand. "I see you still wear the necklace of a seeker."
"Yes," I replied.
"And you have the aura of ancient powers about you," Ancient Strange continued. "Some would say that you have been quite successful at your calling. You're not just seeking - you're finding."
I took a moment to consider Ancient Strange's words. Then I nodded in agreement.
"Of late, I've sensed a strange quirk in our reality," Ancient Strange added thoughtfully. "Nothing definite, but it seems to be emanating from north of what used to be called West Point. And I've heard reports from Cyrus here of dark-elves in that region. About the same time, a great power - I can now guess who - initiated a large storm and brought it up the Hudson valley, which is where you just happen to be at the moment. That's quite the set of coincidences. James, do you any information that might clarify all of this?"
I sighed. "The Destroyer has somehow arrived on our world. And a legion of Dark Elves is trying to track it down. Oh... and there's a madman of the lineage of Loki around here somewhere. He seems to be able to control the Destroyer."
The Ancient Once stared at me. Then he pinched the bridge of his nose between two fingers and muttered, "By the Hoary Hosts of Hoggoth..."
Then his eyes became distant. Cyrus and I fell silent. Ancient Strange was gazing at things that neither of us could see. Quite possibly, they were things that we had no desire to see.
We waited until the light of immediacy came back into the eyes of Ancient Strange.
"This intrusion has been concealed from me," he said worriedly. "The list of entities capable of that is not long."
"Is Malekith on that list?" I asked suddenly.
Ancient Strange nodded.
"Would he actually need to be here on Earth to deceive you like that?" I asked tensely.
Ancient Strange nodded again. Then his eyes narrowed as he looked at me.
That's when I realized that I was smiling.
"There is a lecture I could give you about the futility of revenge," Ancient Strange told me quietly.
"Revenge may be coming," I replied. "In fact, I hope it is. However, it is not the priority. I need your help, oh Ancient One. We cannot let the Destroyer run amok in our world - or become a creature of Malekith. And the dark-elves need to be taught once again that Midgard can be a dangerous place. This must become a catastrophe for them."
Ancient Strange nodded. "I will seek out Odin. And my students will send word to the Scatter."
"There's something else," I said.
"What?"
"I need something that will help me find the Destroyer - and Malekith."
Ancient Strange seemed to consider me for a while. "I believe you already have it."
Back in our reality, Cyrus bowed to me.
"I am sworn to the Captain," he said, "but any aid that I can give you..."
I considered that before speaking. "There are things that the senior Samurai here at the fort feels honor-bound not to tell me. What is the disposition of the Point's forces?"
Cyrus didn't hesitate. "Most of the samurai and other warriors stationed here are trying to hold the frontier between us and the dark-elves. As you can see, a few remain here in the fort since it's an obvious target. Meanwhile, the Captain is putting together his main army to the south of us. He has sent us some reinforcements, but rather than send the bulk of his troops into battle in small packets, his plan is to assemble a host sizable enough that it can directly challenge the main force of dark-elves."
The plan made sense - it was obviously based on a reading of how the early stages of the last war with the dark-elves had gone. It also was not going to work. The Point couldn't take on a full dark-elf legion on its own. The Captain would end up like the lords of Prince and Trent - his samurai scattered and slain and their holdings in ruin. He would just inflict more casualties on the dark-elves.
"Thank you," I told Cyrus. Then we shook hands.
Rahne was waiting for me after I left Cyrus' hut. She'd tracked me there by scent. And she looked worried.
"It's all right," I reassured her.
She nodded, but her eyes were still on the hut behind me. Rahne undoubtedly could sense the peculiarity of it.
"This is a place of magic," I explained to her. "It has been for some time. And the mage inside is actively practicing his art. That's what you're sensing. It is not evil, but it is something that should be treated with respect."
"Oh..." Rahne said hesitantly. "There was something like it back at that shrine to the Lady of Wolves. And with the Destroyer. It was different, but it felt similar."
I nodded.
"Did you accomplish anything here?" Rahne asked nervously. She still didn't like the feel of Cyrus' hut.
"I talked to the world's most powerful mage."
Rahne's eyes went wide. "Ancient Strange? He lives _here_? I thought Nyack was his home."
I smiled and shook my head. "Actually, the man who lives here is a named Cyrus. He helped me speak with Dr. Strange."
"Dr. Strange," Rahne repeated... as if she was unsure what to make of the unfamiliar combination.
"A title Ancient Strange used when he was younger," I informed her.
"What did he say to you?" Rahne asked eagerly.
"I asked his advice on certain matters and he gave it to me. Ancient Strange will lend us what help he can - he is summoning his students and the Scatter who are sworn to him. And he will seek an audience with Odin himself."
"Odin?!" Rahne squeaked - her voice high with surprise. She'd been wisely silent about matters of faith ever since we left Alban, but I knew that a miniature symbol of Mjolnir still hung from her neck.
"The Destroyer is his creation. It supposedly has an important destiny. I assume Odin wants it back."
Rahne looked down at her hands and flexed them. The toes of her bare feet wiggled in the grass. They were the involuntary gestures of a Blood female considering her claws. She was remembering our futile battle against the Destroyer.
It is in the blood and bone of our kind to not like losing.
"Who can defeat the Destroyer?" Rahne asked me.
The answer was 'nobody', but I didn't say that aloud.