THE SERPENT'S TOOTH, Part 16

"You want me to abandon the shrine," Carol said slowly. The expression on her face suggested that she thought I was out of my mind.

"Yes, honored lady - for a brief while," I replied politely. I was asking a considerable boon from Carol. Some extra courtesy surely couldn't hurt.

Or maybe not. Carol shot an angry look in my direction. "I know your kind of man, Lord Ashe," she snarled. "You're never more dangerous than when you're being polite! What are you up to?!"

"I'm not sure what to do next," I admitted. "So I am seeking a sign. A place of power - like a temple shrine - would improve my chances of accomplishing that. Also, solitude helps. However, I plan on entering the spirit world, and there is always some danger in that, so it would be best if nobody else was around."

"Forgive my confusion, lord Ashe," Carol said bluntly, "but are you a seeker, or are you a lord?"

That was a good question. If I was a seeker, the priestesses of the three goddesses owed me some deference. If I was just a delusional lord with a big mouth, they owed me much less.

I chose not to answer her question. "An incredibly dangerous force is at the gates of our world, Priestess Carol. I won't apologize for seeking help."

Once I finished, Carol stared at me for a long moment. Then she closed her eyes and rubbed the bridge of her nose. Like all Blade priestesses, her hands were strong and calloused from innumerable hours of practice with a sword. Since she was Folk, there were also scars covering her hands and arms. The tip of one of her fingers was missing - lost long ago in some battle or training mishap.

"The shrine is yours," she said tiredly.

As the courtyard emptied of life, I sat cross-legged in the middle of the shrine. The statues of the three goddesses were to my front and sides. Lady Grey faced me. Lady Ororo was to my right. The tripartite Lady of Blades - Elektra, Elizabeth, and Laura - was to my left.

Jessica and the girls entered the shrine. Sigmund was tagging along with them - he was a couple of years younger than Samantha and Sophie, but they were obviously becoming attached to each other. The four of them were carrying rounded stones that they'd gathered from the river.

I indicated that the stones should be placed before me.

"My lord, what are these for?" Samantha asked as she wiped her hands dry on her dress. She seemed confused and perhaps worried. From the point of view of her and her companions, I was acting even odder than usual.

"They are the Old One," I told Samantha as I carefully stacked the stones in ascending order, with the largest at the base and the smallest on top.

Jessica knelt next to me, her eyes alight with curiousity as she helped me balance the final stone. "I've seen this before," she told Samantha. "The Blood do it to symbolize their god."

"The Old One is not a god," I corrected Jessica gently.

Jessica hesitated - and then nodded. "Pardon me, my lord. I meant no offense."

"I know," I reassured her.

"Benjamin and Gant are waiting just outside the gate," Jessica added. "They're besides themselves with worry. They want to defend you."

"Of course they do," I told her. "They are good samurai, Jessica. In fact, I could not ask for better."

That made Jessica smile.

"I've never seen a statue of the Old One," Samantha said suddenly. "Statues of the goddesses, yes. But not the Old One. Is it forbidden, my lord?"

I shook my head. "Not really. My father was present when the Old One died and in later years he piled seven stones to mark that place. Ever since that day, the Blood have followed my father's example. I suppose we just don't feel that an actual statue is necessary."

One of Jessica's blonde eyebrows elevated in a way that oddly reminded me of Olivia. "Your father?" she repeated.

"Yes."

"Your father was alive at the same time as the Old One?" Jessica persisted.

"Yes."

"He must have lived a very long time," Jessica said thoughtfully.

"Not particulary. He and my mother were killed in the final Sinister war. They led the attack into Sinister's last fortress. My father was a ninety-five years old. My mother was a hundred and twelve."

I was perhaps becoming too talkative, but I had a great deal on my mind.

My words were the truth, but Jessica and Samantha didn't quite understand the full implication of what I'd just said. On the other claw, Sophie's eyes were wide as she stared at me. She understood how many centuries had passed since the downfall of Sinister. As I'd come to suspect, silent little Sophie was something of a scholar.

A thought occurred to me. Then I smiled at Samantha and Sophie. "How would you two like to go to a formal school? With teachers, classrooms, and books?"

Samantha rolled her eyes in obvious disdain, but an eager expression suddenly appeared on Sophie's face.

I glanced back at Jessica. "If something happens and I'm unable to take care of it myself, tell Benjamin to see that the girls get as much schooling as they can stomach. There is a Folk scholar named Henry in Nyagra - his academy would be a good choice. Oh... and Samantha has to attend school for at least a year before she's allowed to leave."

The expression on Samantha's face turned horrified.

"No, my lord," Jessica said softly. "Return safe from whatever you are about to do and you can take care of it yourself."

Now it was my turn to raise an eyebrow. "Disobedience, Jessica? How unseemingly. And how like you."

Jessica took my right hand in her own and kissed both the back and palm.

"My lord, I look forward to meeting your wives," she told me firmly.

"Get going," I ordered.

As they left, I returned to my meditations. It had been a long time since I'd sought the spirit world so directly.

Dare was my next visitor. She was carrying several small packages.

"Is this a good idea?" she asked me skeptically.

I shook my head. "No, but at the moment it is all I have."

Dare let out a long sigh. Getting on her knees, she unwrapped the packages, creating several piles from the dried herbs contained with them. Then she built a small fire between me and the stones that represented the Old One. The fire was made of wood shavings mixed with the dried herbs. It was almost smokeless, but its tart scent quickly wafted throughout the shrine.

"Good luck," Dare whispered. Then, after a brief pause, she kissed me on the forehead and left.

My eyes were closed as I considered the past, present, and future. I breathed slowly and deeply, taking in the potent fumes of the scented fire. Everything seemed to drift away.

I wasn't in the spirit world yet, but I was at its threshold.

That was a good time to reflect on what had been, what was, and what might be.

Once, I'd carried within me part of the Old One's spirit. And it was that spark which drove me to find and serve the will of the Old One. I wandered through the world of the Blood, the Wilder, and the Folk, trying to defend that which must be defended, and change that which must be changed.

And, of course, to kill that which must be killed. Never forget: seekers are ultimately the servants of a predator.

A seeker's path is a lonely one. Friends are few. Family and a home is impossible. Possessions are a distraction. And your will is so often not your own.

But when I called the Blood of the Huds valley to war... when I killed Malekith... I was merely paralleling the will of the Old One, not serving it. Actually, I was committing an act of personal vengeance.

With Malekith's death, I was no longer a seeker. I'd lost the spark of the Old One that was within me. Fortunately, it passed on to someone far more worthy. Rahne was a superb seeker. And yet I hoped that she would also eventually fall from the Old One's path. I wanted her to someday lay down her burden and return to being a woman. My last few years, filled with wives and children, had been happy beyond words. I hoped Rahne would eventually find that kind of joy.

Rahne is a daughter of my heart. I would consider her children to be my grand-children.

But enough of that... I had to give up on the common desires and hopes of a man.

Casting aside the ordinary flesh-and-blood world, I crossed the threshold and set myself adrift among the spirits.

There was a sound like a bell and I opened my eyes.

Stephen had appeared from nowhere and he was sitting across from me. The cairn that represented the Old One was between us and his back was to the statue of the Lady of Fire. A curling tendril of fine smoke from the fire was drifting above his head.

He was clad in the blue-and-black garb of the Sorcerer Supreme. However, he wasn't wearing the distinctive cape of House Strange, and the Eye of Agamotto wasn't around his neck.

And he was much younger than when I'd last seen him. He appeared as a darkly handsome man in his early middle years, not as the ancient figure who'd spent so many long centuries defending our world against all manner of mystical threats.

He was staring out at nothing - his eyes fixed on something seemingly just above my head.

"Stephen?" I asked quietly.

His eyes flickered. And suddenly Stephen Strange was looking directly at me.

"How long do we have until Dormammu tries to kill you again?" I asked.

Stephen shook his head. "I'm not sure. Perhaps a day. Perhaps a week. I can stave him off again, but killing me is now Dormammu's major goal, so he'll simply keep coming. And at this point, I'm not strong enough to lock him out completely. He will eventually break into our world."

I smiled bleakly at my old friend. "Dr. Strange, you seem to have well and truly pissed off the Dread One."

Stephen actually laughed. "Seeker James, it comes with the job description."

"Loki is interfering," I added seriously. "He exposed you to me - and to Dormammu. Any idea why?"

There was a pause as Stephen considered his reply. "I'm not sure. Loki obviously has a plan. And I imagine he's forcing us to advance it. We can expect his plan to have multiple levels and goals."

I let out a long sigh. "I knew that mother-fucker was using me. I just had no idea of the sheer scale of what he was doing."

Stephen made a tsking sound. "James, I have met the Queen of Asgard. The term you just used is wildly inappropriate."

"If I'm alive after this, I'll find an altar to Thor and apologize."

"That would be wise."

I could see the signs of increasing strain on Stephen's face. Communicating with me was becoming difficult for him.

"Is there anything else?" I asked.

But by then, something had changed in Stephen's face. He blinked several times in confusion.

He was slipping away.

"I must go home," he said slowly.

Blasted mages - they always leave their audience hanging.

"Return to the land of the dead, Stephen," I sighed. "I hope we meet again."

Then he simply vanished.

Suddenly, I was no longer in the shrine.

Instead, I was sitting in a grassy park. In front of me, there was a large manor-house, although it struck me as woefully under-fortified. A large number of Wilder - almost all of them children and young adults- were in the area. They were dressed strangely and chattering back-and-forth in a tongue that I almost didn't recognize at first.

Actually, it was my tongue - the words I spoke back when I was a boy. But in the modern age it had become a strangely-accented dialect. After so many years, at first it was almost foreign to me.

Almost all of the youngsters were carrying books. Some were reading. Many were playing and flirting. More than a few were merely staring at small rectangular objects that they held in their hands. They seemed so intent that I wondered if they were engaged in some sort of religious devotion.

I gasped as I suddenly realized where and when I was.

It was a place most holy to both Blood and Wilder. It was the ancient school of the Crippled Lord.

As I watched, a tall and beautiful woman came out of the manor's back door. She was clad in green and white, with a hood hanging from her shoulders. Her auburn hair had a flamboyant streak of white running down the middle.

My grandmother smiled and then waved at me. I returned her wave as I fought down the tears that suddenly appeared in my eyes. The spirit world can be both cruel and kind. Often, it can be both simultaneously.

"We always did our best, Jimmy!" she called to me. "No matter what, we did our best for the kids! Remember that."

Still smiling, my grandmother turned and re-entered the manor.

The manor vanished.

Now, I was on top of a tall and broad hill. It had a spectacular view of the valley down below.

Over the years, I've had so many homes. That place was once one of them, but now it only consisted of shrines and grave-markers. Even the foundation of the manor that I'd once built there was gone.

Someone was sitting next to me. I hadn't sensed her approach. Instead, she had simply appeared.

It was Sarah. My very first wife, from back in the days when I was a very different kind of lord. Everything about her was just as I remembered - her red hair, gray eyes, and the heart of her face.

She was wearing a red and green cloak. I recognized it. I had given it to her to on the day of our wedding. It was all that a poor wandering ronin who was far better at fighting than he was at saving money could afford to give to the noble lady - of the House of Grey, no less! - who had lowered herself to marry him.

"James..." Sarah said to me as she took my face in her hands.

"Sarah..." I whispered to her, just before our lips met.

I missed her so much. Our joining seemed to go on forever. It was a kiss stolen from time and death.

"There's a problem," Sarah said softly, once our lips finally parted.

That was an understatement. I nodded, but said nothing in reply.

"A plan has occurred to Dare," Sarah continued slowly, "but it's quite dangerous."

"What?" I asked warily.

Sarah took a deep breath and then let it out. Then she looked up and gazed unblinkingly up at the sun.

"It's occurred to her that there's something she can do," Sarah said thoughtfully. "It is, after all, possible to summon a force so powerful that it could defeat - or even destroy - Dormammu himself."

Then I realized what Sarah was talking about. "No," I said flatly.

After a helpless shrug, Sarah turned to face me. "There may be no choice. And if it's occurred to her, it will occur to others. If Dormammu breaks through to our world and begins corrupting and killing everyone and everything, sheer desperation will force someone to try."

"Perhaps," I responded, "but we aren't there yet. Summoning the Phoenix is not a solution, and it very well could be a most final ending. Yes, Dormammu might very well be destroyed, but a battle of that magnitude would inevitably force the Phoenix into full awareness. What happens after that is anyone's guess. And the Phoenix has more than once carved a trail of mayhem and destruction across our world - and the stars themselves."

Sarah said nothing. Her eyes were now like brilliant emeralds as they studied me. Sparks of flame seemed to dance deep within them.

A bolt of fear suddenly shot through me. I knew those eyes.

"If all else fails, I will intervene," she told me. "Better to destroy the world than see it taken by Dormammu. It would be a far cleaner end."

Once more, her lips met mine. And then the Phoenix was gone.

A Blood lord, clad in scarred and rent armor, appeared next.

We were on a hill that footed a tall, snow-swept, mountain. The mountain was one of a range that seemed to straddle the earth to either side of us. On the hill and the flank of the mountain, a battle was taking place between a vast force of Blood and what appeared to be a horde of Wilder. For some reason, the sound of the battle was muted and ghostly. We should have been deafened by the din, but were not.

The lord pulled off his helmet, revealing a sweat-streaked face.

"Father," I said sadly. Even after so long - so many years - I still felt his loss.

"Hey, Jimmy," he said with the smile that I remembered so well. My father was slender and dark-eyed. His hair was a long and narrow strip that ran along the crest of his skull. That was a trait that occasionally appears in the men of my family. I had a half-uncle who was particularly known for it.

"The mortal world is in danger," I told him.

"I know, Jimmy," he replied with a nod. "But remember this: you have to take the boy back to his strange beginning."

I considered that carefully. "His strange beginning?" I repeated.

"Yep," my father said. However, he seemed distracted. He was obviously listening to the oddly distant sounds of battle. Then he grunted and pulled his helmet back on.

"Don't go," I said - even though that was foolish and impossible.

"Sorry, Jimmy, but your mom needs me," he told me.

And then he was gone.

Suddenly, I found myself down by the river, on the Alban docks.

Now that Dare's storm was gone, it was turning into a fine day. I'd been too busy to notice.

The Old One was as I remembered him. He is a short and white-haired Blood with a grimly forbidding appearance. His clothing is a mixture of the familiar and the slightly odd - a pair of denim pants, heavy brown boots, and a dark leather jacket over a sleevelss, white cotton, shirt. At first glance, he wouldn't seem odd to anyone who saw him wandering down the streets of Alban. But on second glance, you might notice some oddities in his dress. In particular, his leather jacket was strangely cut.

At the moment, the Old One was sitting on an unused dock, with a fishing pole in hand. His line dangled in the water. Oddly, the cairn that I'd built in the shrine was also on the dock. It was right behind the Old One.

"Sit down," the Old One said without looking at me.

I did as told. Then I took a moment to enjoy the sun and the scent of the river and the nearby farm fields.

"Jimmy, you know that calling the spirits like this is risky," the Old One told me. As he spoke, he kept his eyes on the cork bobber of his line.

"I'm not doing it lightly."

"Jeannie answered your call. That could have gone bad. Really bad."

I knew that, but hearing the Old One say it was for some reason even more unnerving. Perhaps it was the unspoken suggestion that even he was wary of the potential for disaster that my actions represented. Despite the warmth of the day, I suddenly felt cold.

Then the Old One finally looked at me. "You have things to say, so spit it out, kid."

I let out a sigh. "Dormammu is at the gates. Ancient Strange's spirit is locked in the body of a part-Asgardian boy. Loki is meddling. The situation is calamitous."

The Old One nodded grimly.

"A word or two of advice might help," I suggested.

Then a faint smile flickered across the Old One's face. "Just like always, Jimmy, it comes down to heroes. Earth needs her Sorcerer Supreme."

"Someone has the job at the moment."

"What do you think of him?"

I didn't hesitate. "Cyrus is a brave man and a powerful sorcerer. I suspect Ancient Strange was grooming Cyrus as his replacement, but Strange's death came too soon - and that's my fault. Cyrus just isn't ready yet, but I think he'll die trying to prove otherwise."

The Old One nodded in agreement.

"When Strange died, he put some or all of his soul into Ingrid's boy," I continued. "The mages of House Strange apparently decided to keep that as a secret backup plan. Eventually, Ancient Strange himself - or at least some part of him - would return. But Loki intervened before the joining of Stephen and Sigmund reached maturity. As a result, Dormammu knows what's happening and now he's determined to kill Sigmund and eliminate the last mortal remnant of Ancient Strange."

"What's Loki's game?" the Old One asked. "Why did he butt in?"

"No idea."

The Old One nodded grimly. "And that's something else to worry about. Guess what, Jimmy? You're back on the clock as a seeker. So get to work."

"I'm not giving up my family," I said flatly. The words were out of my mouth before I even considered them.

The Old One shook his head. "I didn't ask you to. Hell, I don't want you to. But you need to follow the signs, grandson."

I took a deep breath before replying. "Yes, grandfather," I agreed.

Then we both fell silent for a while.

"Few people are more familiar with your lore than I am," I said eventually, "but I don't recall ever hearing or reading that you were a fisherman."

He just shrugged. "Like most people, I learned when I was young. After that, I didn't always have the time."

"Besides," the Old One added, "there's some symbolism going on here. The Folk used to talk about somebody called the Fisher King. I've sort of taken over that job."

I didn't know what he was talking about.

Back in the courtyard, I opened my eyes. It was near sundown. I'd been among the spirits for much of the day.

Near the gate, Illyana was leaning against the wall as she munched on an apple. This time, her form was demonic - with horns and cloven hooves - as she gazed at me. Her eerie, yellow-red eyes seemed to peer right through me.

After talking a deep breath, I carefully got to my feet.

"What's your part in this, Aunt Illyana?" I asked.

Fangs glinted as she smiled at me. "Did you know that Stephen was once my master and teacher?"

"Yes," I replied as I stretched painfully. My bones ached from all the time I'd sat motionless.

"There was even some talk that I might someday become the Sorcerer Supreme."

"You would have been magnificent."

Illyana snorted. "It would have been a catastrophe. I'm accursed, Jimmy, and because of that I would have destroyed the world. That's why I didn't even think about taking the job."

"You're being over-dramatic. By the way, did you know about Sigmund and Stephen when you brought me here?"

Illyana shook her head. "It was a surprise to me - I just assumed you would kill the boy and her mother. But I helped create this mess, so now I'm stuck with helping you. Where do we go from here?"

"To the strange beginning."

Illyana frowned as she finished her apple in two large bites.

"What does that mean?" she asked.

"Good question."